Seireitei Monogatari
by Dracoqueen22
Summary: Tales of the Court of Pure Souls. A collection of drabbles and one shots with various pairings, taking place at various times and locations during the series. Yaoi, Yuri, Het, and Gen.
1. Never Been Kissed

**Disclaimer for Entire Series:**

_Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission. I am making no money from the writing of this fic.  
_

_Also, all of the characters depicted in sexual situations within this fic are of legal age. In the case that I erroneously state otherwise, please consider it an error that I will work to find and correct. _

_Therefore, in most cases, this will make the fanfiction presented AU.  
_

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**Title: Never Been Kissed  
Pairings: ByakuyaxIchigo  
Characters: Byakuya, Rukia, Ichigo  
Rating: T (for male/male kiss and cursing, probably some OOC)  
Words: 1,111  
Description: Poor Ichigo. He'd never been kissed in his life.  
Dedications: Peroxidepest even though she has no clue who I am and because she writes the best Bleach drabbles, and my beta Lady Azar. If it weren't for her, I never would have started.  
**

* * *

Ichigo was fascinated by Byakuya's lips. Out of everything about the somewhat cold man, they were the most expressive. His anger, his irritation, his pleasure, all of it could plainly be seen on those plump bits of flesh, usually set in a firm line and embraced with impassivity.

He had wondered from time to time what it would be like to kiss those lips. Whether the shinigami captain would welcome the action or coldly dismiss him with eyes as warm as Hyourinmaru. Would they be heated and pliable, parting slowly beneath his touch?

Byakuya would have to take the lead, of course. Having been married, Ichigo could only assume that the man had at least kissed someone before.

Unlike Ichigo. Poor Ichigo. He'd never been kissed in his life. Unless he wanted to count his mother's soft, doting touches to his forehead or his father's rather terrifying attempts at affection that only made him ball up his fist, reach way back, and knock the life out of him. Not that it ever deterred Isshin in the slightest. His father was much like a cockroach.

Now, the very fact that he stood on the edge of a field, watching the sixth division captain easily disperse a hollow and internally wondering whether or not he should attempt to kiss Byakuya should have disturbed him on some level. After all, despite his vaguely feminine and downright pretty exterior, Byakuya was above all things a man, and Ichigo never really took himself for the type of guy who went for other men.

If it hadn't been for Rukia, he probably never would have even thought about it.

She had gotten it in her mind one fine spring day that Ichigo scowled because he was lonely and was lonely because he hadn't met the right person. And in a grand gesture of her usual genius, she had decided that the best way to resolve the issue was to stick him with someone else who suffered from equal bouts of loneliness and scowling… aka her brother.

She had smiled sweetly, eyes darkened with a hint of danger that he should have recognized as she tilted her head to the side. Her arm had threaded through his, and she had dragged him off to some unknown location. He would later learn that she had deposited him off on the edge of the field where Byakuya was fighting, only to disappear without another word, leaving him gaping in confusion.

"You see," she had chirped, sounding treacherously serious. "Poor nii-sama hasn't had sex in fifty years, and you've never been kissed. You have something in common!"

Obviously, she had overheard Ikkaku and Renji when they had been ruthlessly mocking Ichigo for his lack of experience. He was fifteen, according to them, and should have at least made a move on someone by now. Why not Orihime with her sweet smile and absurdly large breasts? Why not Tatsuki, if he was into the whole she could kick his ass thing? And if he was gay, Ishida seemed particularly receptive, if they squinted.

Anyways, he never would have even thought about kissing or Byakuya or any combination of the two, which involved him staring at the sixth division captain's lips with little subtlety, if it hadn't been for Rukia and her damn ideas. And now that it was in his head, it wouldn't leave, and he was staring, absolutely staring at the graceful movements of Senbonzakura and wondering what it would be like if Byakuya kissed him.

He had also never expected the noble man to take a trip down to Karakura for anything less than an emergency, which the pitiful Hollow that he easily dispatched was not. Why Byakuya was impassively watching one of the weakest Hollow's Ichigo had ever seen dissolve away as he slid his zanpakutou back into its sheath was a mystery.

And why couldn't he stop staring at those lips?

They were pink, rose-colored almost like a woman's, and they looked soft, petal-soft as he once read Shakespeare describe. He wondered what they would taste like. Rukia had said that Byakuya liked spicy food.

Spicy. Hmm.

His skin prickled, and Ichigo raised his gaze, startled to find that Byakuya was looking at him now, his beautiful face strangely contemplative. Unconsciously, and overcome with this strange desire to suddenly shunpo across the field and come through with his secret wonder, he licked his lips.

Byakuya raised a brow.

Ichigo flushed redder than his hair.

Byakuya disappeared.

Only to reappear directly in front of the substitute shinigami, mere seconds later.

Something glittered in grey eyes, and for a startling moment, Ichigo had the sudden and slightly worrisome thought that maybe, just _maybe_, Rukia had shared the same conversation with her brother that she had with Ichigo.

He wondered if Byakuya was wondering, too.

"Kurosaki Ichigo." His voice was empty, displaying no emotion.

"Byakuya." He tilted his head in greeting.

Byakuya stepped towards him. Ichigo fought the urge to step back and battled with himself for the strange desire to pull closer. Damn Rukia and her ideas. Damn Renji for his suggestions. And damn himself for his stupid eyes wanting to zero in on Byakuya's stupid lips.

Which were moving…

Closer.

Ichigo blinked. A hand settled on his shoulder, and then, lips were pressed to his.

He was right. They were soft. And slightly shaky. Was the great Byakuya nervous? Maybe, just maybe, he had been wondering, too.

The lips pressed further. Ichigo leaned forward and pressed back. What was supposed to come next again? And his hands, they were just dangling there all useless. Wasn't he supposed to do something with them, too?

Kissing was just too damn hard. And spicy.

Ichigo wobbled a bit, balanced so precariously, and to his horror, his teeth slid from between his lips of their own accord, biting down none-too-gently on the great Kuchiki's bottom lip.

Brown eyes widened in unrestrained embarrassment as heat suffused his cheeks when Byakuya drew back from the kiss, a faintly bemused expression on his face if Ichigo actually deigned to look hard enough. As it were, he was far too mortified, and it showed.

"Uh..." He was at a loss for words, surprisingly enough. His first kiss, and he had screwed it up. He could just hear Renji and Ikkaku chortling now, imagining their back-breaking slaps of torture and teasing. "I... uh... sorry. Didn't mean to, um, bite you." He was starting to babble now, which was probably only making things worse.

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

He raised his head.

"Uh... yeah?"

And Byakuya kissed him again. His last thought was that Rukia would have been ecstatic.

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Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know how I'm doing, please.


	2. Playtime with Shirou

**Title: Playtime with Shirou  
****Pairings: Hints of Shunsui/Ukitake  
****Characters: Shunsui, Matsumoto, Hitsugaya, Ukitake  
****Rating: K  
****Words: 799  
****Description: Ukitake wants to play a game. Not as dirty as it sounds.  
A/N: Big thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last one! Especially to the people who's alert list I'm on. Thanks for the support!**

* * *

Hitsugaya's right eyebrow twitched. He was certain it was his right eyebrow because his left eyebrow had just twitched five seconds ago. Not that he was counting. 

Across from him, in an equally hard chair as his own, sat the reason for the twitching. The man was smiling pleasantly, dark eyes gleaming happily. For once, he didn't appear sick at all. Hitsugaya wondered if it would have been cruel for him to wish for one tiny cough. Just one. Not a lot. Just enough to save his sanity since he didn't know if he could handle anymore of finding the lost King of Candyland.

Blue eyes glared frostily at the abomination from Karakura that was the board game in front of him, a gift courtesy of Orihime via Ukitake. And the first words out of the other captain's mouth?

"Let's play together!"

"Gum Drop Mountain, Shirou-chan! What great luck!" the older shinigami declared, humming as he lifted his blue playing piece with elegant and thin fingers, depositing it several spaces ahead of his current position, which was terribly behind Hitsugaya's own on the board.

Hitsugaya's scowl deepened as he stared at his own. He had wanted to be blue, but Ukitake had argued that green went much better with his complexion.

The younger captain groaned and sunk further down in his seat, wondering when he had pissed off Kami-sama enough to be reduced to playing a game of Candyland. He was not a child, no matter how much Ukitake kept shoving candy at him, and really, the board game was meant for kids ages three to six. Three to six! It was simply too much for his pride to bear.

From the doorway, he could hear the sounds of both Matsumoto and Shunsui twittering in amusement at his predicament. His vice-captain cooed at the cuteness, wiggling her fingers at him, while the lazy eighth division captain kept mumbling something along the lines of "my sweet little Jyuu-chan just loves his Shirou-chan!"

"Good luck, taichou!" Matsumoto sang, flopping her hand at him uselessly. She ignored his pleading looks to be saved. "I know you can win."

Shunsui tapped his hat, droopy eyes beaming with love and adoration. "Yare, yare, that look of determination. Be careful, Jyuu-chan! He might beat you!"

Hitsugaya shot them glares of pure frost, but neither seemed particularly perturbed. He vaguely realized that he was pouting like a child, his lower lip jutting out far further than the other. Oh, the indignity.

"Your turn!" Ukitake chirped.

Hitsugaya sighed, reaching forward with a lazy movement and grabbing the next card in the stack, trying his best not to look at the brightly colored board, which made his eyes and head ache. Literally.

He snuck a peek at his card. "You were stuck in the Chocolate Swamp! You must go back to green!"

He groaned, resisting the urge to bang his head on the table. He didn't know how Ukitake was doing it, but he was certain that it was somehow the thirteenth division captain's fault. They had been playing the game for _three damn hours_, and neither had won yet. There weren't _that _many spaces. Somehow, Ukitake hadn't managed to move past the first obstacle.

And dammit, Hitsugaya did not need a hug from Mama Ginger Tree.

"Oh, too bad, Shirou-chan," Ukitake commented dramatically. "And just when you were getting close, too."

His eyes widened in barely restrained horror as he watched his play piece slide backwards on the board, the plastic scratching against the brightly painted cardboard and sounding vaguely like his last rites. He was certain if this continued, he would be stuck in Candyland until the day he died, war or no war.

He really should have been wary when Ukitake approached him earlier, all sweet smiles and random gifts. He should have known that beneath that kind facade was the heart of a devious manipulator. Honestly, the man was just like Aizen but with different hair and minus the glasses.

Hitsugaya really should have said no when the older shinigami asked him to play a game. But sparkling, dark eyes had been his undoing, and like many others who had fallen under the kindly man's spell, he had grudgingly given in without a fight, grumbling the entire way. Still, he had trailed after an elated Ukitake nonetheless.

The older shinigami's face brightened. "My turn!"

Hitsugaya groaned, eyes darting towards the wall clock. "Don't we have a meeting in… twenty minutes?" he ventured, hoping that a sense of duty would have save him.

Ukitake merely winked. "I'm sick, and you're keeping me company," he pointed out good-naturedly before reaching for another card. "Look! I get to skip straight to Lollipop Woods. Aren't I lucky, Shirou-chan? Hmm?"

There was no escape.

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Review please! I'm interested in knowing what you think. 


	3. The Big Players

**Title: The Big Players  
****Pairings: None  
****Characters: All thirteen division captains, vice-captains, and Ichigo  
****Rating: T (for cursing and toilet humor)  
****Words: 1101  
****Description: There may have been more than one reason Aizen left after all. **

* * *

Considering the current state of affairs in Seireitei, it came as no surprise when a meeting was called involving all of the highest powers. Every captain, vice-captain, and Ichigo Kurosaki were ordered to attend the meeting. In Ukitake's case, his two third-seats served as temporary vice-captains, while Kira, Momo, and Shuuhei were provisional leaders of their respective divisions. Yoruichi was missing in action.

Yamamoto stood proudly at the front, his vice-captain a silent presence at his side, as he swept his aged gaze over the big players in such a tragic game. So many losses, so few gains, and yes, Yamamoto felt a heavy sigh coming on. However, he refrained from issuing the sound, noting that many were becoming fidgety as they waited for him to say something.

He droned on for several minutes, reciting old nonsense about honor, duty, and loyalty. He claimed that they needed to bond together as a unit, that nothing would overcome them if they were strong. That they all were respectable and devoted shinigami, diligent in their work, and it was up to them to make sure the laws of death remained valid.

"However," he blathered, already sensing that many were falling asleep on their feet despite repeated elbow gougings by their vice-captains. "That is not my main purpose for calling you here today." He banged his staff on the ground, waking them all up. "Considering the two ryoka events recently, it has come to my attention that we have a serious security problem in Seireitei." His honorable eyes swept over his underlings. "Any suggestions?"

For a moment, there was complete silence.

Then they heard it… quietly at first but gaining in volume as it announced its presence with the loudness of a trumpet, and it was rapidly accompanied by a very nauseating odor that diffused all too quickly through the first division chambers.

Someone had farted.

As one, each and every member turned towards Zaraki Kenpachi, certain that the rude and crude captain of the eleventh division was the only one capable of such atrocity.

He grunted, "Not me."

On his shoulder, Yachiru giggled. "Yeah!" she chirped. "Cause we ain't dead."

They weren't sure what to think about that.

Accusation number one unfounded, every female then turned to Mayuri, certain that the disgusting and foul captain was the only one revolting enough to do so outside of Kenpachi, especially since Ichimaru had turned out to be a traitor and everything. Because that bastard could get away with anything.

Mayuri's eyes widened, heart thudding painfully in his chest at the fierce glare that Nanao was sending his way. He frantically shook his head, words caught in his throat as he waved his hands, vaguely resembling a clown bird.

Soifon glared at her vice-captain since she knew he had tacos for lunch.

Omaeda cringed, expecting to be struck.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, it erupted, every voice striving for dominance above the others.

"Shunsui!"

"Not me this time, Jyuu-chan."

"What do you mean, _this time_, taichou?"

"Yare, yare. If you didn't notice it before, you aren't going to notice it now, my sweet Nanao-chan."

"Aizen-taichou would have _never _done anything like that."

"Shut up about 'im already! The man's gone fuckin' whacked."

Unohana chose that moment to sniff daintily, unaware that her vice-captain was turning green at her side. "Someone needs to come in for a check-up," she chirped lightly.

Isane cringed.

"Matsumoto!"

"Ooh, taichou's trying to place the blame on me!"

"Well, that bastard Ichimaru's not here anymore. It had to be you."

"Own up to it, you big, dumb ox!"

"Whoever smelt it, dealt it, woman!"

"Whoever denied it, supplied it, oaf!"

"My, my." Ukitake smiled as he watched his third-seats argue. "It's not that serious."

Shuuhei and Kira exchanged glances, both of them knowing that the offensive bleat had been somewhere close to their area. Both were certain that it hadn't been the other, which led them to one other person, especially since Iba was the perfect picture of bewildered stupidity. They turned to their redheaded friend.

"Abarai-kun!" Kira exclaimed, pointing a finger at the stunned vice-captain.

Cherry-colored eyes widened. "It wasn't me!" Renji immediately blustered.

Shuuhei shook his head. "But it came from over there," he replied logically. "Therefore, it was you."

"But it wasn't me!" Renji insisted, quickly flushing as his eyes flickered to his captain.

"Renji," Byakuya stated in an authoritative tone, his face completely impassive. To Kira and Shuuhei, it sounded as if Byakuya's noble sensibilities had been offended.

Iba leaned around Komamura, who was looking slightly ill as he covered his overly sensitive nose with one massive paw. "If it ain't you, then who was it?" Iba demanded, just as certain as Kira and Shuuhei that it had to have been Renji since it hadn't been him.

Renji hung his head. "I can't say." He looked slightly nervous, eyes darting to Byakuya once more before just as quickly sliding away. He sighed. "I honestly can't say."

Shuuhei was smug as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Ichigo had both brows raised as he leaned in towards Ukitake. "Does this happen all the time?" he muttered.

The thirteenth division captain grinned and waved somewhat dismissively. "Just enough to keep it interesting." He winked then before calling out something inane to his third-seats, watching them begin to fight all over again.

The orange-haired shinigami rolled his eyes. "I can see why Aizen wanted to leave." No wonder it had been easy for he and his friends to sneak in if this was what they called a strategy meeting.

Suddenly, Yamamoto's staff rapped on the floor, instantly spreading silence throughout the room. He seemed immune to the stench and didn't notice that Sasakibe was looking vaguely queasy.

"Honestly!" Yamamoto barked. "You are like children. Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Yama-jii!" Shunsui exclaimed, waving his straw hat in front of his face. "It was you, wasn't it?" He grunted in the next second when an elbow jabbed him in the side.

Nanao was not impressed.

Dead silence. A cricket chirped.

The aged shinigami sniffed. "Of course not. Now, on to more important matters. How to improve our defenses. I will not abide by another ryoka invasion."

The meeting proceeded as planned, though the odor continued to linger, its perpetrator remaining unknown.

* * *

He could have held it.

He just didn't feel like it.

Besides, it was so much more amusing to watch them fight over the blame.

And who would ever suspect that it was Kuchiki Byakuya behind it?

* * *

Review please! I'm interested in knowing what you think.


	4. Ice Cream

**Title: Ice Cream  
****Pairings: TatsukixOrihime  
****Characters: Tatsuki, Orihime  
****Rating: K  
****Words: 644  
Warning: Yuri, OOC (probably), a bit inaccurate since the day after I wrote this, a new episode came out that showed Orihime likes to dump all kinds of stuff on her ice cream****  
****Description: Just because it was a randomly special day.

* * *

**

It was the only food that Orihime would eat unaltered. Without any added flavorings or spices or slathered on bread for no reason at all. She had claimed that it was "yummy goodness" enough, which had made Tatsuki smile.

Ice cream was also Tatsuki's second favorite food, right after apple pie, though she only ever admitted it to Orihime.

And because of it, they had a bond, something in common, since they shared very little else. Brawns and brain, beauty divided. Orihime was kind and gentle, a bit ditsy if one wanted to be honest. Tatsuki could be rough and tumble, and her kindness was a bit hidden, reserved only for those she cared about.

But the sweet, frozen dessert was something that they shared. Tatsuki always kept a pint of their favorite flavor in her freezer, and she could count on Orihime to randomly show up some days and just want to take a walk to the ice cream shop.

Just because it was a randomly special day.

The first time that Orihime had to go away, she had promised to return so that they could eat ice cream again. Tatsuki had known something was off but didn't make a fuss because Orihime was like that sometimes. Besides, Tatsuki wanted to understand. Even if she couldn't, she wanted to.

So she made sure that there was a tub, just waiting for Orihime's return.

After all, ice cream was a defining part of their relationship.

It was the first place they had gone after becoming friends, sharing ice cream as Tatsuki tried to cheer up her fellow classmate who seemed to be surrounded by tragedy.

Tatsuki had ordered chocolate, and Orihime had surprised her by ordering vanilla.

When she had asked the ginger-haired girl why, she had just tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly. "Why mess up what's already perfect?" she had returned and had happily set to licking away the first melting drops.

That had made Tatsuki grin before starting in on her own, and from then on, it was a tradition.

They had been eating ice cream on the day that Tatsuki had kissed Orihime, too. A spur of the moment action that she hadn't wanted to regret but would only if it seemed to bother her best friend. Orihime had tasted like sugar and cream, a bit of ice cream still stuck cutely to her lips.

Afterwards, when Tatsuki had been wallowing in worry that she would lose her, Orihime had only giggled and kissed her back.

She had chirped, "Does that mean that Chizuru can beat you up now?"

The second time Orihime had to leave for reasons unknown, the same promise was made. She had returned quicker this time before the ice cream even had a chance to get nice and comfortable in Tatsuki's freezer.

She had promised that no one would ever be able to make Orihime cry, but even Tatsuki couldn't protect her when she wasn't there.

So when Orihime disappeared a third time, even if she hadn't explained why beforehand, Tatsuki kept up the tradition. A brand new carton of vanilla ice cream sat patiently in her freezer. And when it got frostbitten, she threw the unopened container away, only to replace it a few hours later.

Her mother never asked why. Her father had learned to stay well away from it.

Tatsuki waited because they had made a promise. She waited because Orihime was her best friend, and if Tatsuki couldn't fight and couldn't know where Orihime was going, she could at least be there when Orihime came back. She knew that Orihime would come back, no matter what anyone else thought.

So no matter how many times she had to replace the carton, Tatsuki kept buying it, leaving previous containers untouched.

Just waiting for another randomly special day.

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Review please! I'm interested in knowing what you think. 


	5. Thrill of the Forbidden

**Title: Thrill of the Forbidden  
****Pairings: Kenpachi/Byakuya (Yes, you read that right.)  
****Characters: Kenpachi, Byakuya  
****Rating: M  
****Warnings: OOC (probably), Crack (in a way), Male/Male kiss, etc.  
****Words: 810  
****Description: They say many things, but that still doesn't make it the truth.  
**_Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission._

* * *

They called him uncouth and wild, bloodthirsty and cruel. They called him vicious and dangerous.

He was a monster, they said. He was a creature that lived only for the blood and the kill, for the next battle and his next gruesome victory. His name was whispered in darkened corners, his one-eyed stare enough to send weaker men scurrying like insects out of his way, even if he hadn't noticed their presence in the first place.

He wasn't to be trusted, and few would dare show him their unguarded backs. They said that there wasn't a gentle bone in his large body, that surely the child was crazy for wanting to believe her "Ken-chan" was a good man. Or perhaps even good was too strong of a word.

They said he was a man who could not be tamed, could not be taught. Most of all, he was a man who could not be saved, if anyone was even brave enough to dare try.

And while Kuchiki Byakuya was not afraid, he was by no means attempting to rescue said person or even endeavoring to domesticate such a feral man. If there was one thing he refused to change about his lover, it was the raw danger that the man exuded from every pore. It was challenging; it was potent. Most of all, it was tantalizing, especially to one used to receiving bows and having others scramble to fulfill his every whim.

If there was one thing that Zaraki Kenpachi did not do, it was bow. He had never scraped to anyone, whether they were his superior or not.

Byakuya liked Kenpachi for this reason. The man was a challenge, a mystery. Men followed him devotedly. Perceptive children clung to his shoulder, chirping with glee as they raced off into combat. On the battlefield, he was a simple but terrifying presence, and yet, his hands had the capacity to be gentle. It was a startling contrast that simply boggled the Kuchiki heir's mind.

Despite his strange and rather unorthodox way of thinking, Zaraki was obviously doing something right. Near as he could tell, there were very few other reasons that Byakuya would end up in the eleventh division captain's chambers, trading witty banter over a bottle of fine sake. It was their usual dance before the real battle began.

Wild, they said. Hmm, Byakuya supposed that was true.

He drank his sake elegantly, watching the other man's movements over the rim. Kenpachi dumped the entire bowl into his mouth before quickly pouring another, belching loudly. Rude, uncouth… yes, Byakuya supposed that was true as well.

"Tell me, hime. Has anyone e'er pick on ya for havin' that damn flowery bankai?"

Silver eyes blinked, perfectly composed as Byakuya arched a finely sculpted brow. Interpreting drunk-speech was becoming an art form for him, especially after having Renji for a vice-captain.

"I do not believe anyone has that much courage."

Kenpachi threw back his head and laughed, deep and mirthful, before centering his one-eyed gaze on his companion again. "Bet they were thinkin' it though."

Despite himself, Byakuya felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps."

The sake bottle clattered to the table as Kenpachi slumped forward in his position on the floor, balancing his chin on his fist, his elbow resting on his knee. "You don't talk a lot, do ya, hime?"

The other man laid down his bowl, returning Zaraki's stare with his own. "And you talk far too much."

"More a man o' action, hmm?" The eleventh division captain grinned, his sharp teeth glittering in the dim light.

Byakuya tilted his head to the side, a smirk wanting to grace his mouth. He held back, of course; this was the part where it really started to get interesting.

"Something like that," he answered, eyes glinting with the prospect of a challenge.

Kenpachi laughed again, just as hearty, before his hand snaked out, grasping the front of Byakuya's shinigami robes. He dragged the other man closer to bring their lips together. No apologies, no permission, just thrusting his sake-drenched tongue into the Kuchiki heir's mouth. Still, it wasn't that Byakuya minded, and he just placed his hands on the taller man's face and deepened the kiss.

Danger was such a heady aphrodisiac, after all.

A cruel monster, they said. Byakuya wasn't too sure about that. Fierce, aggressive even, he corrected, as there was a nip to his bottom lip, drawing a trickle of blood. Well, he could even give them bloodthirsty to an extent. Hands began tugging at his robes in carefully directed movements, ones that could have been brutal if he truly lacked control.

Honestly, Zaraki might have been all those things, and it wouldn't have bothered the Kuchiki heir in the slightest.

To him, Kenpachi was the thrill of the forbidden.

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Thanks for reading! Believe me, I have lots more coming! Leave a review before you go... and even pairing suggestions if you want. If I can think of a good idea for it, I'll write it!


	6. I Surrender

**Title: I Surrender  
****Pairings: Aizen/Ichigo, Shunsui/Jyuushiro, implied Gin/Rangiku, one-sided Aizen/Hinamori  
****Characters: Nearly the entire Gotei 13 plus the traitors  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: OOC, Language, Parody, Male/Male  
****Words: 2,711  
****Description: "Can I just… you know, not be evil anymore?"  
****Dedications: To PeroxidePest for a Gin that misses his toothbrush.  
**_**Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission.**_

* * *

Yamamoto was droning on and on about diligence and determination in the war against Aizen, and they were forced to listen since it was a strategy meeting, captain and vice-captain alike in a complete stupor. The old man stressed strength of character and forgiveness, telling them to have a merciful hand upon their enemies. He warned them to go into battle with eyes wide open.

"Because swinging your sword with your eyes closed isn't the smartest thing to do. Eh, Zaraki?" Shunsui muttered under his breath, cutting his gaze at the taller captain across from him.

Nearby, Ukitake Jyuushiro couldn't hold in his laughter, dark eyes sparkling warmly.

Zaraki snorted. "Seemed ta work awful well for those bastards Ichimaru and Tousen." The eleventh division captain let out a bark of laughter, disturbing Yamamoto's continuous and boring buzz.

The old man instantly paused, glaring at the two deviants, and Ukitake turned his laughter into a very believable cough, pretending he had just been ill the entire time. Zaraki barely managed a look of chagrin as he humphed and crossed his arms over his chest.

The aged commander cleared his throat with the intention of continuing his tirade, but a sudden and rather familiar reiatsu flooded the area around them, instantly grabbing their attention. As one, their heads swiveled to find the source, immediately centering on a location just outside the chamber door.

"No," Soifon denied, shaking her head. "He would not be that stupid."

Byakuya's face was grim. "He just might be."

"Outside! Everyone! Blades at the ready!" Yamamoto barked.

The entirety of the Gotei 13 rushed outside, prepared to do battle to preserve peace and justice and sanity. Hands were hovering over hilts of zanpakutou, and there was determination alit in many eyes. Finally, the ultimate evil had come to finish waging his war.

Why he had decided to come in person and directly into Seireitei itself was a mystery that they didn't care to ponder.

"Aizen!" Hitsugaya roared, the first to arrive at the scene as he flitted far ahead of everyone else. "You will get your just--"

The young shinigami's threat died in his throat as he took in the scene, only to skid to a sudden and complete halt as his eyes widened impossibly large. It was all Matsumoto could do not to collide with her captain, performing a clumsy pirouette of her feet, only to trip on the end of her sash and crash to the ground.

And still, Hitsugaya gaped.

The rest of the Gotei 13 arrived, and like the tenth division captain, they could only gawk at the spectacle before them.

They were under attack, or at least, they had thought they were. Surely, there was no other reason for Aizen to reappear in Seireitei with the other traitors at his side. Or in Tousen's case, somewhat at his side. They must not have been on good terms any longer since the blind shinigami had been both gagged and bound, being dragged by Aizen, who tightly clutched the end of the rope.

"We surrender," the former fifth division captain professed, and Ichimaru waved a white flag through the air beside him, which fluttered wildly in the nice summer breeze. "Can we come back?"

Many pairs of eyes blinked in stunned disbelief, clearly confused. Hands still lingered near swords, indecisive as to whether they should draw them. Perhaps it was all a clever ploy? Did he plan to trick them once more?

"Or a truce even," Aizen continued gravely, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. "Just make it stop."

Beside him, Ichimaru nodded in agreement. He waved his white flag a few more times, acting as if it somehow made up for all of their past mistakes.

Shuuhei, having noticed the fate of his former captain, started creeping towards the bound man. Perhaps he wanted to hear Tousen's side of the story.

Aizen shifted where he stood, shooting his silver-haired companion a glance and silently ordering him to stop with the flag-waving. He then continued, noting the disbelieving stares that were being sent his way.

"You see, the Arrancar have discovered pop culture. They refuse to cease singing Celine Dion's _My Heart Will Go On_ regardless of what I threaten."

He paused as several of the younger shinigami winced, while their elders merely looked confused.

After a moment, Aizen went on, "And Tousen's vocabulary has degenerated to just one word--"

In the background, Hisagi made the mistake of removing his former captain's gag, and finally, they learned the reason for it.

"Justice, justice, justice," the dark-skinned man chanted continuously, his voice low and raspy from disuse. Apparently, he had been restrained for quite some time before Aizen had decided to make his reappearance.

The former fifth division captain rolled his eyes, while Ichimaru shuddered. "Gin misses his toothbrush, of all things, and well… my boyfriend's not really into evil."

The chorus of gasps that echoed around the gathered shinigami was nearly deafening. Aizen tightened his jaw at the sound before a low chuckle, assumingly meant to be surreptitious but resounding noisily, disrupted the shock.

Shunsui elbowed his lover gently. "If we had known he was into men sooner, we could've fulfilled your threesome fantasies. Eh, Jyuu-chan?" he whispered loudly, eyes flickering to Byakuya, who was given them strange looks. "Though, we could always try for Byakuya again, ne?"

The Kuchiki heir gradually began to inch away, wondering if it was too cowardly of him to stand that much nearer to Renji.

His vice-captain didn't appear to mind.

However, Ichimaru chose that moment to speak. After his gaze had swept over the crowd, alighting on a very familiar face, his mouth split open in a very wide grin.

"Hiya, Ichigo!" he called out. "Nice ta see ya with your clothes on this time." He flopped his thin, pale hand at the substitute shinigami with little subtlety, and it almost seemed like little sparkly hearts fluttered around his head.

Ichigo turned redder than Renji's hair as he slapped a mortified hand over his equally mortified face. Every shinigami present whirled towards him as Rukia's jaw dropped in utter shock.

"T--that's where you've been sneaking off to!" she demanded, her voice slightly shrill. "But… but he tried to kill me! He tried to kill you!"

"So did yer brother," someone, who suspiciously sounded liked Zaraki, muttered from the side.

Aizen sighed and pinched his nose, while Ichigo shook his head. He scraped his hand across the back of it, disheveling already disordered locks.

"I… uh… I…" the boy mumbled, not exactly sure how he was going to explain this, especially with the way everyone was gaping at him so vividly. Even the ever-composed Kuchiki heir looked dumbfounded.

And in the background, a voice still murmured "…justice, justice, justice…" in a never-ending diatribe.

"You bastard, let me go!" Hitsugaya's voice rose above the crowd as he struggled in the grasp of the much taller eleventh division captain. He had recovered from his stupor in just enough time to remember how much he hated Aizen. The youngest captain wanted nothing more than to hurt the traitor for what he had done to dear, sweet, and innocent little Momo.

Zaraki grinned, bearing fang-like teeth as he held Hitsugaya up with one hand, dangling the smaller shinigami several feet above the ground. "Quiet down, pipsqueak," he rumbled in return, single eye glinting dangerously. "I wanna hear this."

"If I'd known that becoming a god was this much trouble, I never would have tried," Aizen explained, attempting to gather their attention once more and direct it away from his… _liaison_ with the Kurosaki boy. He wanted to sound contrite, but somehow, it just came out sarcastic. "It's not worth it. Can I just… you know, not be evil anymore?"

And then, a voice rose above the crowd. It was loud and excited… but most importantly, distinctly female.

"Aizen-taichou!" the woman cried as she burst through the throng, darting forward with arms outstretched and a look of manic glee on her face.

In tandem, Ichimaru and Aizen shrieked in terror, nearly climbing over each other in a desperate attempt to find a hiding place. Tousen was left to his own fate as Aizen darted towards his younger lover, ducking behind orange hair. Meanwhile, Ichimaru took up refuge with Komamura, hoping that the much larger and furrier male would be his solace. The seventh division captain was too stunned to react, merely blinking his lupine eyes, whiskers twitching.

"Save us!" the two traitors cried, casting pleading eyes onto their onetime fellow shinigami.

In the background, justice had finally gone silent.

Yet, the bouncy fifth division vice-captain didn't seem to notice their looks of abject terror. "You came back to me!" she chirped, skipping towards them. "I'm so happy. I love you! Let's make babies!"

Both Aizen and Ichimaru paled as the cheery girl trotted their way, hearts bubbling in her eyes. However, that was only until she noticed her beloved captain was currently cowering behind Ichigo, who was rubbing the back of his head in an embarrassed daze. Suddenly, candy hearts became the raging fires of hell as her saccharine and kind tone turned to that of a rampant, snarling beast.

"You're with that BOY AGAIN!" she howled with the voice of a demon, her hand immediately going to her zanpakutou at her side. Her cute face contorted into something that would make even a Menos Grande flinch away.

"Ieeee! GO AWAY!" Aizen begged desperately, not at all sounding like someone who had once tried to take over the world. He clung to Ichigo's shinigami robes as if they were a lifeline, peeking over the younger boy with fear-filled eyes.

In the background, very disturbed by the strange display, Jyuushiro and Shunsui exchanged glances.

"Yare, yare," Shunsui drawled, taking off his straw hat and waving it in front of his face. "The real reason for Aizen's defection comes out."

The white-haired man nodded in agreement. However, he was cut off from saying anything further when Momo's enraged shout pierced the air, causing his ears to ring painfully.

"Don't you know that I'm the one who loves you!" she roared petulantly. "I love you, not that freak!" She drew her blade and rushed at Ichigo, madness swirling in her once cute eyes.

Out of nowhere, two blurs attacked her, both covered in tattoos. It was several moments before the other shinigami could distinguish their identities, given the mass of limbs flailing about and the expletives filling the air. Renji and Shuuhei had jumped to Ichigo's aid, and yet, it seemed that Momo had the upper hand. It appeared that cuteness was equal to strength when combined with the fiery hell of unrequited love. It presented a deadly combination.

Shuuhei received an elbow to the face, ensuring that he would be sporting a rather lovely black eye later. And Renji suffered a nasty gash across the back of his right arm. For a moment, the gawking shinigami feared the two men would be overthrown by the slight female. Thankfully, however, Kira decided to join the fray and save them from the humiliation.

He jumped in with a quick binding spell before throwing himself unnecessarily to the top of the pile. Momo crumpled beneath the combined weight of the three males, and an unnatural silence fell over the entire scene. Everyone was stilled, seemingly frozen in place.

A cricket chirped.

Yamamoto stepped forward, a pained expression on his face. His honorable eyes swept over the spectacle. He took in Aizen hovering beside the Kurosaki boy, and not even his aged gaze could miss how they were surreptitiously holding hands, fingers tightly intertwined. To their left, Ichimaru had a strained smile on his face, which was covered in fear as a very upset Matsumoto stalked towards him. That reunion did not look to be pretty.

Lying on the ground, still bound and looking quite pitiful, Tousen had stopped speaking altogether, much to the relief of the gathered shinigami. And beneath the pile of squirming male limbs, Hinamori Momo still struggled ineffectually, her cries of rage actually muffled by the pair of socks someone had shoved into her mouth. She wiggled around, almost managing to worm her way free before a sock-less Renji caught her foot, dragging her back.

Yamamoto sighed, rubbing his suddenly aching temples. Some days, it just didn't pay to be the captain commander of the Gotei 13.

"Well, he did kill all of Chamber 46," a voice ventured out of the crowd, thinking it wise to point out all of Aizen's misdeeds. "And you know, the whole trickin' us with his bankai thing." The crowd parted to reveal a very self-satisfied Iba, even if he did look vaguely perplexed.

Shunsui snorted derisively. "They were a bunch of corrupt and useless bastards anyway," he commented, ignoring the elbow that jabbed him in the side as Nanao adjusted her glasses. "Not much of a loss there. What did they actually do?"

"A big hunkin' wad of nuthin'," Zaraki muttered, watching Aizen and Ichigo with a wolfish smirk. "Kinda like the king." He finally released Hitsugaya, whom had been reduced to gaping at his childhood friend.

The tenth division captain wondered if Hinamori had ever been sane. If not, she was really freaking good at hiding the madness.

Ikkaku frowned then, his forehead crinkling. "A king?" he piped up, having arrived at the scene after hearing the warning clanks echo throughout Seireitei. "We've got a king? I've never seen a king."

Yumichika sparkled prettily at his side as he, too, contemplated the existence of that so-called king. Between them, Yachiru grinned, wiping at the bloodstain on her sleeve.

In the middle of the throng, his hands clasped behind his back, Yamamoto considered all of their very valid points. Silence fell as the whole of the Gotei 13 and a few stragglers waited for him to make his decision. The oldest shinigami frowned and then shifted his weight. He tilted his head to the side.

A breeze wafted by, carrying on it the scent of cherry blossoms.

Someone coughed into his hand.

It might have been Jyuushiro.

Yamamoto sighed, still blinking with confusion at what was perhaps the most perplexing mystery of the entire affair: Aizen and Ichigo, who had yet to release each other. In his old heart, he simply couldn't blame Aizen… or maybe he was just getting senile.

It was probably the senility.

With a final sigh, the captain commander rapped his staff on the ground. "All is forgiven," he announced. At least this way, he would only have to replace one captain instead of three. Perhaps he could finally convince the Kurosaki boy to stick around now.

A wind stirred before a brief and ragged cheer erupted from the crowd, its origin unknown.

"What a useless venture," Mayuri whined, shaking his strangely altered head. "I've wasted a whole day." He turned on his heels, stalking away with a brief flutter of his captain's robe. "Come, Nemu."

"Yes, Mayuri-sama."

Soifon frowned, though it was difficult to discern from her usual expression. She was disappointed that there had been no battle, and beside her, Omaeda picked his nose. He was just glad that he hadn't even had to lift a finger… or remove it from his nostril.

The crowd began to disperse with varied reactions, most indistinguishable from the rest. Aizen turned towards Ichigo, his arms slipping around the boy's waist as he laid his chin on his young lover's head. Meanwhile, Ichimaru made a strangled sound, struggling to breathe from his position on the ground, a very irate Matsumoto smirking with her foot on his chest. Nearby, Hitsugaya blankly walked over to the pile of limbs that was four vice-captains, blinking as Shunsui and Jyuushiro trotted up behind him. Tousen just sat dazedly in the dirt a few feet away, not even mumbling anymore, Komamura wondering what to do him.

In the background, Ikkaku continued, "A king? We have a king? Someone s'plain to me about this king! I ain't heard nothin' bout no king. Oy! Renji, who's the king! Someone tell me! Who's the king?"

…and somewhere in Seireitei, Yamada Hanatarou sneezed.

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Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate some reviews!


	7. Rukia's Dating Service Renji

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service - Renji  
****Pairings: Renji/Ichigo  
****Characters: Renji, Rukia, Ichigo  
****Rating: T  
****Words: 1372  
****Description: Rukia decides that Ichigo is both gay and lonely. Poor Ichigo.  
****Warning: Take this with a grain of salt. I really don't know how Japanese movie theaters work despite my research, so I'm pretending they are just like US movie theaters. However, the price given for the tickets is accurate. A typical ticket in Japan is 1800 yen a piece.**

* * *

He slouched. He scowled. And it seemed he was always deep in thought. She watched this with vigilant eyes, taking in every slump and pinched forehead. It wasn't that he lacked determination or even the fighting spirit, nor was it that he was worried. No, Rukia was certain that Ichigo was struck with another much more difficult malady.

Loneliness.

And while some believed that it was up to her to allay that slight problem, she really didn't see him in the romantic sense. Ichigo was like the younger brother she never had, and she took great pleasure in beating him up, just like all siblings. Besides, it was sooo obvious that Ichigo was gay. Or maybe she just wanted to believe that.

Either way, Rukia was convinced that Ichigo didn't need a woman but a man. And preferably someone older who would watch over him, which was why she made it her mission to find someone for him. And luckily, she knew just the man.

"Whaaaaat?" Ichigo exclaimed as she smiled so sweetly at him. "Bitch, have you lost your damn mind?"

She patted him on the shoulder as her eyes sparkled. "Now, Ichigo, be reasonable. It's okay. You can admit it to me." Her voice took on that same saccharine tone she usually reserved for their classmates.

He continued to gape at her. "B--but… Renji?!?!"

Rukia nodded as she beamed at him, threading her arm through his and pulling him along with unnatural strength. "Trust me. You two are perfect for each other, and with any luck, you'll distract him from mooning over nii-sama."

He had thought to decline or even flat out tell her "hell no", but like always when it came to Rukia and her crazy schemes, he didn't even bother to try.

Which was how he ended up standing in line at the local movie theatre with Renji at his side, waiting to see that new action movie that had come over from America. It was something about Greece fighting a losing battle. It was strangely ironic, and thus, the reason they chose it.

Only, Ichigo couldn't help but feel the odd stares centered on both he and Renji. He knew it wasn't because they were two men since many people had said time and time again that they looked like family. Or their bright hair color either. No, he was certain that they were staring at Renji's clothes since Rukia had thought to dress him again.

In the future, Ichigo vowed to lend Renji something to wear, even if he had to borrow from damn goat-face since he had to reluctantly admit that Renji was both taller and larger than him. Regardless, a bright yellow t-shirt with a smiley face on it, dark green camouflage pants, cowboy boots, and that same goofy vest as before clashed entirely with the rest of Renji's odd appearance. Worse, the vice-captain wore it with dignity… as if it were an expensive business suit.

And the people wouldn't stop gawking. The bright pink bandana decorating Renji's expansive forehead might have also had something to do with it.

"Oy, Ichigo," Renji whispered, leaning down towards the substitute shinigami's ears as they managed to move a few steps forward in the line. "People're lookin' at us, ya know?"

Ichigo shot him a glare and was sorely tempted to explain just why, but then, he realized Renji wouldn't get it anyways. So he thought of something a bit more understandable for the other male. He settled for a lie.

"Ignore them," he mumbled, inwardly cursing Rukia with every bit of his mental power. "They're just jealous of you." Ichigo inwardly shuddered with disgust, filling a strange tingle deep inside. Perhaps his inner hollow shared the sentiment.

Renji grinned, as full of himself as always. "I'll bet," he replied smugly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Ichigo rolled his eyes as they finally stepped up to the movie window. The cashier greeted them with a bored smile and blandly asked what they wanted.

"Two for 300," Ichigo answered, shifting slightly in his stance.

Her fingers clacked away on her computer. "3600 yen," she demanded boredly before looking up at them expectantly. Two pairs of eyes blinked back stupidly at her. "3600 yen," she repeated.

Ichigo elbowed Renji.

Renji socked him in the shoulder.

"Pay her, man!" Ichigo demanded, scowling.

The older shinigami stared back at him, glowering fiercely, even as a slight tinge of embarrassment decorated his cheekbones. "I don't have any of yer damn currency," Renji spluttered. "You pay her."

Ichigo blinked and then sighed, reaching into his pocket. At least, goat-face had pressed money into his hand before they left. Well, that and condoms, but Ichigo had promptly thrown those back in Isshin's face, not caring for the "Daddy Gay Sex Talk" accompanying them.

Beside him, Renji slouched and muttered something under his breath as his gaze shifted over the side. As Ichigo handed the money over to the woman, he couldn't help but think that the blush staining red on Renji's cheeks was kind of cute, especially since he was usually so brash.

"You're change and tickets, sir." Her voice was clipped and clearly annoyed.

Ichigo returned his attentions to her and took both, shaking his head at himself.

And so it began.

Their next stop was the concession stand because Ichigo simply couldn't watch a movie without chocolate, and he had already heard Renji's stomach grumble hungrily, much to the older man's humiliation. Asking for a Coke and some Raisinets, he turned to find a very perplexed Renji beside him.

"What's this strange thing?" Renji asked, tapping a finger on the popcorn popper.

Ichigo was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole movie experience. "Popcorn," he explained. "Now, whaddya want? The movie starts in five minutes."

"Takiyaki," the redhead replied still staring at the popcorn. Apparently, it fascinated him.

The cashier behind the register was very patient as her gaze darted between the two handsome men, wondering if they were cousins. Or lovers even since that would have been fuckin' hot.

"They don't _have_ takiyaki here, Renji. Candy or nachos or hot dogs or popcorn only."

The older shinigami made a face. "Che. What kinda business're they runnin' here, anyway?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the cashier. "Jujyfruits, too. That'll be it." He handed over the money when asked and swiped their selections off the counter before shoving his gawking date towards the theaters. He dropped the Jujyfruits into Renji's hand, ignoring the other man's protests when he tried to discern exactly what it was.

Ichigo just hoped they would shut him up long enough to actually enjoy the movie.

Forty-five minutes into 300, both felt the arrival of a hollow just outside the theater, and Ichigo actually debated upon going to take care of it. Wasn't there someone assigned to do just that in Karakura? Although according to Keigo, the man didn't appear to do anything more than run around stupidly and bitch about the fact that so many people could see him.

Renji started to fidget, mouth still occupied by the Jujyfruits as he cut his eyes at Ichigo.

Swords clashed on screen.

The hollow roared.

Ichigo sighed and stood up, much to the annoyance of those seated around him. The theater was quite packed.

What a waste.

They snuck into the bathroom because it really wasn't wise for Ichigo to leave his soulless body lying around just anywhere. Besides, Renji's artificial soul was very flaky. Time ticked by as the red-haired shinigami grunted and strained to get out of his gigai.

Shaking his head, Ichigo went on ahead. Luckily, it was an incredibly weak hollow, and he had it beat within seconds. Ichigo returned to find Renji still stuck and cursing futilely at his gigai.

The man washing his hands at the sink looked both perplexed and frightened at the strange sounds coming from the bathroom stall. He hurried from the room as quickly as possible.

Ichigo could only shake his head.

So much for the "heavenly date that would cure all his lonely ills." Rukia was a damned idiot. And he planned on telling her so.

Right after he untangled Renji from his gigai.

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Thanks for reading! A review would be much appreciated! I take all suggestions to heart and requests get added to the list. I can't promise that they will be written and posted in the very next one, but eventually, it will come out. 


	8. Pasta

**Title: Pasta  
****Pairings: None  
****Characters: Byakuya  
****Rating: K+  
****Words: 250  
****Description: Byakuya thinks it looks like noodles, too.  
****Dedications: To my beta, Lady Azar, because she is recently obsessed with Byakuya.  
**_**Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission.**_

* * *

He really hated his kenseikan. He loved his scarf, but he really hated his kenseikan. 

He was not too fond of being head of the Kuchiki Clan either, but considering it really wasn't something he could run away from, he dealt with it as best as he could.

However, the kenseikan really irked him. It was useful when it came to holding back his hair; that way everyone could see the icy glares that he so loved to give. And whenever he was in a messy situation, it helped make sure he retained his unflappable and unruffled appearance.

Still, it did look like noodles, as if someone had dumped a pasta bowl on top of his head.

It took a special kind of person to walk around with as much dignity as he did, considering he was wearing noodles on his head.

And people wondered why he was so cold.

At least, it was white. And it matched his scarf… somewhat.

If someone should offer to take over the Kuchiki Clan one day, he would be sorely tempted, if only to be rid of the noodles. Only a noble could come up with something as ridiculous as the kenseikan.

As if wearing noodles really made them all that much _nobler. _

Che.

However, there was an even more important reason why Byakuya really hated his kenseikan. A reason that vexed him beyond all comprehension, especially since he was quite fond of his normal and often envied appearance.

It crinkled his hair.

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Thanks for reading! Especially to those who have me on their favorites or alert list! 


	9. The Night They Burned Seireitei Down

**Title: The Night They Burned Seireitei Down  
****Pairings: Byakuya/Ichigo, Kenpachi/Yoruichi, Jyuushiro/Shunsui  
****Characters: Byakuya, Ichigo, Hitsugaya, Rukia, Ukitake, Unohana, Yoruichi, Zaraki, Matsumoto  
****Rating: M  
****Warnings: Male/Male kiss and making out, total and complete crack... sorta  
****Words: 1,979  
****Description: Drunken revelry leads to unexpected surprises. A somewhat sequel to Drabble 1.  
**_Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission._

* * *

Grey smoke rose up in thick tendrils around the burnt remains of half of Kuchiki Byakuya's once regal home. Battered and scorched pieces of wood battled valiantly to remain upright before falling over with a crash, causing everyone present to cringe and wince as the thick smell of fire washed through the area. Clumps of ice clustered strangely on intact portions of the roof, and water dripped down from the scorched trees nearby. 

A wind stirred.

"What the hell happened here?" Hitsugaya questioned, face pinched with surprise and a bit of anger at being awakened at three in the morning. He glared at the remains of a blaze, which had nearly threatened to destroy all of Seireitei.

Ukitake shook his head, clucking his tongue. "If I didn't know better, I would say that Shunsui has been playing with matches again." He laughed lightly, despite the stares being sent his way, and a small cough escaped him.

The two white-haired captains had been called to put the fire out, doing so in record time. And now, little by little, the other members of the Gotei 13 were arriving, fearing an assassination attempt on the Kuchiki heir.

Standing there, staring in what might have been considered a mournful expression were it anyone else but Kuchiki Byakuya, a very frazzled sixth division captain glared at the remains of his home. It was unlivable, he decided. At least, for the moment. And strangely enough, Rukia's room was entirely untouched.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his head, managing to look just as confused as everyone else. "I don't think anyone left the fires going," he commented lightly, raising an eyebrow when four pairs of eyes turned in his direction.

All at once, his presence was finally noticed.

Hitsugaya's eyes widened in abject shock as he openly gaped, unable to maintain his usual calm appearance. His gaze darted between Byakuya and Ichigo, both looking ruffled and half-dressed, standing strangely near to each other. He paused, tilting his head in thought.

Wait.

Why was Kurosaki in Soul Society in the first place?

Scratch that.

Beside Hitsugaya, Rukia giggled, casting both men a knowing expression. "Nii-sama," she began in an amused tone. "Are you wearing anything beneath your captain's robe?" she questioned, already knowing the answer. After all, he was clutching quite desperately to the folds of his cloak, keeping it clasped tightly around his body.

True enough, other than the sword clasped urgently in one hand and the scarf haphazardly tossed around his neck, Byakuya didn't exactly seem dressed for the occasion. His hair, free from the kenseikan, fluttered wildly about his face, and black, sooty smudge marks decorated his fair complexion.

Still, what surprised Hitsugaya the most was not the faintly blushing Kuchiki heir, despite the fact that for once Byakuya did not look perfect as usual. Even in the midst of battle, with blood streaming down his face, Byakuya managed to look perfect. Even more startling than the normally unruffled noble looking… well, ruffled, was the man standing right beside him.

Arctic blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why are you in bankai?" Hitsugaya demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Ichigo.

Instantly, the substitute shinigami reddened as he rubbed the back of his head again. His eyes darted to Byakuya before shifting up to the night sky, seeing ribbons of smoke continue to rise.

_With their budding new relationship, neither had been willing to simply jump into it, especially since Ichigo's sole experience rested with whatever he and Byakuya had done so far. But this was it; this was the night for certain. Sex was about to commence, and judging from the heat in the air and the electricity sparking through their bodies, nothing short of the house burning down or an attack from Aizen was going to stop them._

_Both were unbelievably horny, having tried to take their relationship slow so as not to ruin anything. Only recently had they realized the futility of that decision and now sought to remedy their ridiculous choice. _

_Skin was bared. Hands smoothed over battle-scarred flesh. Many kisses rained down, one upon the other. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, limbs intertwined. Neither claimed dominance, not just yet. _

_They kissed, tongues mingling as their breath was shared. Gentle fingers probed at an untouched entrance, and their hearts beat erratically in their chests. It was a magic moment, a heated moment, a moment filled with great desire and arousal and…_

_Ichigo paused, lips drawing into a frown as he pulled back from a kiss. "Did you feel that?" he questioned, eyes flickering to the window where the moon shone down as a brilliant silver disc. _

"_You mean the world moving when I kissed you?" Byakuya remarked dryly, already preparing to drag his lover back to their previous actions._

_The orange-haired shinigami stared at the older man, still unused to his rediscovered sense of humor. "No, it felt like an explosion," he insisted._

_Byakuya shook his head, somewhat amused by Ichigo's persistence. "You're mistaken," he assured him. _

_And if Ichigo thought to argue, it was lost in the very next moment when hands pulled him down for another earth-shattering kiss. Sheets were rumpled. Hair was tugged. Tongues slid across flesh already streaked with sweat…_

"_Do you smell that?" It was the Kuchiki heir this time, and his regal features somehow managed to display both desperate need and slight concern._

_Ichigo sniffed the air, tilting his head to the side before sudden realization struck him. Chocolate eyes widened._

"_Smoke!" he declared, leaping to his feet but not without some difficulty as his limbs were thoroughly enmeshed with Byakuya's. It was several seconds before they managed to untangle, and when Ichigo tumbled to the floor, tripping on the edge of a sheet, he laid eyes on the flames that were already licking around the doorframe._

"_Shit!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet again. "Fire!"_

_A small noise escaped Byakuya's mouth as Ichigo frantically darted around the room, rushing to Zangetsu and muttering something along the lines of "clothes, clothes, clothes." But there were none. In their haste, clothing had been left in another room, so Byakuya snatched up the three most important and closest items he could find. _

"_No time!" The Kuchiki heir gasped, shoving his soon-to-be, or more accurately his hopefully-soon-to-be, lover towards the window. "Out the window!"_

_Ichigo thought to protest. He was naked, after all. But then, flames licked at the heels of his feet, and all modesty flew out the window… literally. _

_It was only sheer luck that he landed feet first. _

_The ground was chilly, the grass dotted with dew, and Ichigo instantly shivered as Byakuya climbed out of the window behind him, managing to complete the action with a stately bearing that only a man like Byakuya could.  
__  
With little other choice and desperate for something to cover himself as he was certain the fire would attract some attention, Ichigo did what any man would do in his situation. Well, if their zanpakutou was anything like his. _

"_Bankai!" _

Rukia snort-laughed, a rather odd sound. Still, it was truly typical for her as her gaze darted between the two men, her nose wrinkling with a mischievous thought.

"So, Ichigo, just stopping by my house, I see. Even though you _knew _I wouldn't be there."

The substitute shinigami flushed at her insinuation. He blushed further as more captains and vice-captains appeared on the scene, Unohana, Soifon, and Komamura included.

"Well, I… uh…"

"Kurosaki needed somewhere to stay," Byakuya inserted smoothly, still maintaining his regal demeanor, in spite of the circumstances. Truthfully, however, even he was beginning to fidget a little.

Rukia tossed him a level stare as she crossed her arms over her chest. "In your bedroom?" she pointed out. Her brow arched. "_Naked_?"

Ichigo choked on something invisible, and a faint blush managed to stain the Kuchiki heir's cheeks as they both looked away from her, staring at the oh-so-fascinating ground.

In that moment, Unohana bustled forward since anyone pulled from a burning building had to have at least one wound. "Oh my, Kurosaki-san," she breathed, hand fluttering to her mouth as her eyes raked over him. "That looks like a burn on your chest. I should treat it right away."

Brown eyes widened as he slapped a hand over the offensive patch of skin, remembering just what kind of mark was there. Damn Kuchiki and his damn lips making damn marks on his damn flesh.

"No, Unohana-taichou, I believe that Kurosaki is fine," Byakuya murmured, his voice sounding strangely strangled, even as Ichigo shot him a glare.

It simply was not fair that he could remain so unruffled, not while Ichigo blushed over and over again.

Ukitake, taking pity on the two and the interesting spectacle they were making of themselves, finally stepped forward. "With your home in such shape, you cannot stay there, Byakuya. Might I offer my own for the evening?"

But his words fell on deaf ears. At that moment, three pairs of shinigami eyes were locked on three very familiar items that were littering the ground.

Ichigo stared very resolutely at a small, golden bell lying guiltily among the carefully manicured but now ash-choked grass of the Kuchiki front lawn.

"Zaraki."

A patch of dark hair, obviously from some sort of feline, dotted one of the elegant stone steps of the front entrance. These strands of fur completely captivated Byakuya as his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Yoruichi."

Somewhere between the bell and the hair was yet one more distinguishable item. A pink scarf was curled up neatly on the ground, causing Hitsugaya's right eyebrow to twitch repeatedly.

"Matsumoto."

And so the perpetrators were known.

_Raucous laughter filled the evening air as three very upstanding members of Seireitei stumbled drunkenly down the path, sake jugs clenched tightly in each hand. They weren't sure where they were going or even why, but none of that mattered since the moon was high in the sky and the night breeze was so cool. _

_Matsumoto snorted, nearly choking on her sake. "Ya know, Zaraki-taichou," she began on a giggle. "You should get married or something'."_

"_Bwa ha ha!" Kenpachi laughed, tossing his head back as he threw an arm over Matsumoto's shoulder. "You offerin' or sumthin'-- Ow!"_

"'_Ow' is right!" Yoruichi snapped before throwing an arm around his waist. "Yachiru don't need a mom! She has Yumichika!" A snorting and very inelegant sort of laughter escaped the former Shihouin heir's mouth._

_His arm retracted from Matsumoto's shoulder, choosing to instead slip down and grip the ass clad in tight slacks, fondling with little shame. Instead of slapping him as she should have, Yoruichi merely let loose a drunken laugh. She tugged on one of his spikes, rattling the bells. _

"_Hey!" Yoruichi suggested, a sudden idea dawning on her as she took a great big gulp from her jug. "Here's a plan. Let's go visit Byaka-bo!" _

_Matsumoto's face crinkled with confusion. "Why?" she asked, planting a hand on her hip. _

_The former second division captain shrugged, beginning to slur her words a little. "Just a thought or…" She paused, her features suddenly brightening. "Even better… let's teach Ken kidoh, Rangiku." _

_The vice-captain chortled loudly. "Zaraki? Kidoh?" _

_He snorted loudly, sucking down the very last of his jug and tossing it over his shoulder. It crashed loudly to the ground and shattered. _

"_I don't wanna learn that shit," he grunted. "That stuff's fer Kuchiki-hime." _

"_Ah, come on. It'll be fun."_

_He grunted again. _

_She took it as consent. _

_Yoruichi decided that a fire spell, nice and destructive, would be the best place to start, and wasn't it lucky that they were approaching Byakuya's house? _

_And so it was, several minutes later, they were running away from the scene of the crime, their cackling laughter echoing loudly on the wind._

* * *


	10. Battle Scars

Title: Battle Scars 

**Pairings: Chad/Ichigo**

**Characters: Chad, Ichigo**

Rating: T

Warning: Male/Male stuff, fluff, WAFF

**Words: 356**

**Description: Battle scars and love scars, scars of loyalty for saving someone who was a friend.**

_Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission._

He loved his scars.

He would trace over them with his calloused fingers, following their injured lines, and sometimes, he would even let his lips do the discovering.

There were so many of them for him to be so young.

Short, jagged barbs across his mid-section.

A long strike along his right arm.

Wounds long-healed from Senbonzakura.

The small, barely-noticeable slice hidden just beneath the fall of hair on his forehead.

A gash across his chest from Zabimaru.

Badges of honor and pride.

Battle scars and love scars, scars of loyalty for saving someone who was a friend.

Ichigo was like that, just that kind of person. He was a guy who would rescue a woman he barely knew because he owed her something or even simply because she was already his dearest friend. If it had been Ishida or Orihime or even Chad himself, he knew for certain that Ichigo would storm any world and put his life on the line to bring them home.

It was one of the reasons Chad loved him.

The pads of his fingers traced over the scars, puckered bits of flesh, uneven pinkish marks that raced across his skin. Ichigo murmured something, still in his half-dazed and sleepy state, and Chad let a smile crack his face.

"You always do that," the orange-haired boy muttered but not irritably. His eyes were closed. He was relaxed, and Chad's fingers ghosted over the exposed flesh of his back.

The taller male watched as muscles flexed beneath tanned skin, rippling a very visible scar that streaked across from his shoulder to his spine. Outside, it was a moonless, cloudless night. Crickets chirped noisily to each other, but within the room, it was calm, comfortable...

"Why?"

"Because."

Ichigo snorted. "That's not a reason."

But Chad remained silent, bending down to press his lips to the rough mark. Ichigo shivered slightly, a low sound of pleasure echoing deep in his chest.

"Do I have to have a reason?" Chad asked softly, his breath warm against the smaller male's back.

Ichigo didn't respond, but then again, he didn't have to.

-----


	11. Of Love's Bestowing

**Title: Of Love's Bestowing  
****Pairings: Byakuya/Yoruichi (one-sided), Byakuya/Jyuushiro, Byakuya/Hisana, Byakuya/Renji  
****Characters: Byakuya, brief mentions of others  
****Rating: T  
****Warnings: OOC, Male/Male kiss, spoilers for Byakuya's back-story  
****Words: 1278  
****Description: Byakuya has been in love four times.**

* * *

His first love was Shihouin Yoruichi.

She was everything his stifled, caged existence was not. Yoruichi was carefree and fun with an ever-present and rather mischievous smile. She always laughed, enjoying life in a way that he had never been allowed, and he envied her more than even he cared to admit.

He loved her dark skin, which reminded him of the smooth chocolate he secretly coveted when he thought no one was looking. And Yoruichi's eyes shone with a hint of amber-hued awareness, as if she already knew everything before he did.

Yoruichi had always ruffled his hair, pinched his cheeks, and chirped nonsense at him. She had called him cute pet names that made his lips twist into a scowl, all the while beaming with happiness on the inside, and she had forever goaded him to play tag. Yet, he had never been able to catch her, not even now.

However, Yoruichi had disappeared from Seireitei before he could ever confess, though he suspected she had already known. Sometimes, he imagined he still could hear her laughter echoing in the sakura blossoms, and something like happiness and longing tingled in his belly, in spite of the fact she had left him for that fool Urahara.

His second love was a man, which had surprised him at first. Yet, what was there not to like about Ukitake Jyuushiro? No one could hate the kind man, who always had a smile for everyone. He was Byakuya's senpai, and from the moment he had met the white-haired man, Byakuya had felt something jump sharply in his chest.

Jyuushiro was beautiful, and that had been the first thing Byakuya had noticed. When introduced to the oldest son of an aristocrat family, he had been struck by the graceful gentleness in the man's dark eyes. For the first time, Byakuya had felt nervous at a meeting, jittery, his palms sweating and his knees shaking.

The older shinigami had simply beamed at him, patting him companionably on the shoulder. The man had promised to look after him, to take care of him, and unlike so many of Byakuya's other caretakers and associates, Jyuushiro had always kept his promises.

It had taken him a while to work up the nerve to confess, and Byakuya could tell at a glance that he had taken the other man by surprise. He was certain that Jyuushiro received love confessions at least one a day, but still, he had hoped that his own would be something special.

Waiting there with bated breath, something like hope fluttering in his heart, had been one of the longest times of his rather short life. For a startling and wonderful minute, Byakuya had almost believed that his senpai returned his feelings, especially with the way Jyuushiro had stared at him. The man's eyes had swirled with some nameless emotion, their dark depths glittering strangely.

However, the moment had passed all too quickly. Jyuushiro had reached out, squeezing him on the shoulder more tightly than he ever had before, giving that same gentle smile. Yet, it had somehow been saddened, bittersweet, and in that instant, Byakuya had known what was to come. He had barely listened to whatever the older shinigami had said next, and even now he could only faintly recall Jyuushiro's words, something about age differences and having his whole life to find his true love.

It had been easier from then on to keep a more impassive facade around Jyuushiro, even when he received smiles that seemed secretively sweeter for him than everyone else. They were even more special than the ones reserved for Kyouraku.

Perhaps the true love that Jyuushiro had spoken of was Hisana, or at least, that was what Byakuya had wanted to believe. For him, it was a tingling, maybe even love, from the outset. For her, it was mere joy at the thought of leaving the horrors of Rukongai. He had married her, despite the fact that she was a commoner, defying the elders of his clan.

And yet, she had always been lukewarm to him. Her heart hadn't shone in her eyes when she had gazed at him, not like his had for her. Her smiles had been empty, her touch cold, like ice. Though it had hurt, he simply could not let her go. While his heart had thrummed and his eyes had softened for her, it had been with the startling and aching knowledge that she had appreciated him at the most and respected him at the least.

Nevertheless, Hisana was his third love, the only one who had ever even given him the chance. Not even playful Yoruichi or kind Jyuushiro had been willing to do that much.

Byakuya had thought that after her death his heart would forever be a solid block of ice and stone, one that would never crack. Years of rejection, of learning to deal with the loss and impossible, unrequited love had made him… well, loveless. He was composed and cool and locked inside, all notions of romance and yearning lost to the wind as foolish improbabilities.

He had been unprepared for the furious fire of a stray dog, one that took form in his cocky and brash vice-captain.

Renji was everything Byakuya had never known he wanted and nothing he had ever expected. The Kuchiki head didn't believe he would ever feel anything again, content to keep everyone at a safe distance and far from reaching for his carefully protected heart. Yet, something in his newly appointed vice-captain called to him.

The boy was annoying and loud, determined to reach the stars, despite his complete lack of wings. And in his scarlet eyes, there was such a vigor for life, one that Byakuya knew he had lost long ago if he had ever even had it at all.

Renji was common and low. He was young, noisy, and full of ideals. Yet, Byakuya wanted nothing more than to rip off that tie and bury his hands in dark crimson strands. He wanted to mark skin with his own teeth and to silence the nonsense words with his lips. The plain _need _that he felt when he looked at Renji surprised even himself.

In spite of all that, Byakuya never said anything; he never made a single move. He watched. He imagined. He pretended… but he never acted, like always. For all his courage, Byakuya was a coward on the inside.

He had been brave once, and look what it had gotten him. A childhood friend who had abandoned him, who had always loved someone else more. A senpai who had simply smiled, pity and wordless apologies forever shimmering in his eyes. A wife who had used him, who had never even cared for him at all.

So when Renji had grabbed him one day for no reason, pulling him across his desk and scattering the paperwork to the floor, Byakuya had been shocked. He had been perplexed. Still, it hadn't shown; above all, noblemen did not display emotion.

Nevertheless, his eyes had widened, and a small gasp had escaped his mouth when Renji had growled in his throat, suddenly kissing him as if nothing else mattered in the world. There had been passion; there had been warmth. There had been _desire_, something that no one else had ever returned, and he had instantly melted, a part of him cracking deep inside.

He had returned the embrace, forgetting about the paperwork and his duties and decorum. He finally, _finally_, had what he had been searching for within his grasp.

Byakuya just never would have guessed that his fourth and final love would be Abarai Renji.

* * *

A/N: Trust me, I've got lots more drabbles coming! Thanks for reading!


	12. Worst Fears

**Title: Worst Fears  
****Pairings: Jyuushiro/Shunsui (brief mentions)  
****Characters: Yamamoto, mentions of others  
****Rating: K+  
****Warnings: OOC, etc  
Words: 693**  
**Description: Even captain commanders have nightmares. Mentions of other drabbles.  
**_Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission._

* * *

There wasn't much that a man as powerful as Yamamoto Genryuusai feared, very little in the world actually. A hollow wasn't much of a threat, all things considered, and really, his very presence was enough to make even the strongest captains quake in their sandals and socks.

Still, even for a man such as him, one who had lived for a long time, there were things that managed to rattle even his composure. There were nightmares that haunted his sleep, and there were a dozen in particular that preoccupied him even during the day.

Always nagging in the back of his mind was the fear that Hitsugaya would one day learn just who had really given dear Jyuushiro Candyland. Even now, the old man had visions of being frozen into an ice statue by Hyourinmaru.

Another irksome worry was Isshin's return to Seireitei to reclaim his position as captain of the third division. He wasn't sure he was prepared to handle the "grandson love slap to the face" as a typical greeting every day, and the old man knew that he couldn't handle the ten thousand other inane things Isshin chirped at various times.

Though it seemed a fair distance in the future, Yachiru becoming old enough to date was terrifying. Yamamoto could not help but feel sorry for the first fool who thought it wise to attempt to kiss her. Between she and her "Ken-chan", there probably wouldn't be much left of the moron.

As captain commander, he had been well aware of Hinamori's… uh, _obsession_ with her captain. The crazed fixation that shone in her eyes had always made the old man shudder, and he dreaded that one day her attentions would switch from the now absent fifth division captain to himself.

While he recognized Kisuke's exile as something of a necessity, he couldn't help but think of his former student now and then, and he knew that Jyuushiro and Shunsui missed their close friend. Still, he couldn't help the tightening in his heart whenever he thought of Kisuke reproducing one day. Or even worse, Kisuke having children with Yoruichi.

The world would never recover.

Even more frightening than Yachiru's coming of age was the fear that one day Zaraki might actually come through with his attempts to learn his sword's name. His bankai might actually be powerful enough to destroy all of Seireitei in one swipe, but on the other hand, the war with Aizen would be over pretty damn quickly.

It was a double-edged sword.

There were also things that Yamamoto feared ever seeing, such as walking in on Shunsui and Jyuushiro… again. They were his sons by everything that mattered, and honestly, no man should ever see his children in that position. Or any position. Especially that _particular_ position.

Or that one day, everyone in his command would realize that he had no idea what he was talking about either. Still, he figured that if he had to deal with their idiocies and insanity on a day-to-day basis, then he could spout off utter nonsense whenever he pleased.

And yet, there were worse things, darker dreams that haunted his sleep.

He was afraid that Ichigo would follow Kaien's footsteps in more ways than one. He feared that the man all of Seireitei was beginning to admire and almost expecting to save them would fall in the end as well.

Yamamoto feared that his age would find him before the war was over, and that without him, Soul Society would self-destruct. There was no one to replace him, in spite of how much he wanted to believe the opposite.

And what truly made his heart stop in his chest was the gripping fear that he would outlive Jyuushiro. He was filled with dread every time the boy was ill or in the hospital, terrified that he would outlive his own son.

After all, no parent should ever have to bury their child.

His number one fear, however, the number one reason Yamamoto slept so very little was the terrible realization that Sousuke might have been right all along.

That in the end, it would have all been for nothing.

-----


	13. Lovely Item

**Title: Lovely Item  
****Pairings: Kenpachi/Byakuya  
****Characters, Kenpachi, Byakuya  
****Rating: M  
****Warning: Insanity, pure insanity. I don't know where it came from.  
****Words: 605  
****Description: Kenpachi likes pretty things.**

* * *

He often wondered why they weren't as afraid of him as they should have been.

The men of Seireitei regarded him as a monster. They thought he was destructive and bloodthirsty, truly no better than a Hollow.

But the women, they were different. Not in a way that would have impressed Ikkaku or any other of his woman-hungry subordinates. The women didn't ask him on dates or try to seduce him or anything like that.

Instead, they baked him cookies and chatted pleasantly with him. Or offered to baby-sit Yachiru so that he could have more time with Kuchiki-hime. Not that he, you know, actually wanted to or anything… right?

They thought he was the cutest thing since Shunsui had declared his love for Jyuushiro on the top of the tower in a drunken stupor one bright and lazy summer afternoon.

It was simply baffling to Kenpachi.

He was a fearsome opponent. He wore an eye-patch! He had chiseled teeth. Didn't that just scream fright and knee-shaking terror? Zaraki Kenpachi was _not _cute.

And they brought him other gifts as well. Shiny baubles, paintings, well-woven fabrics, as if he had any idea what he was supposed to do with them. He ended up tossing the jewelry to Yumichika, who sparkled excitedly, and shoving the fabrics into the bathroom to be used as towels. He wasn't sure what to do with the paintings. Presently, most had mysteriously disappeared, usually right after Matsumoto visited.

He had bellowed "why?" at the last woman who had come bearing gifts, and she had blinked stupidly before smiling brightly.

"Because Zaraki-taichou likes pretty things," she had chirped sweetly before shoving a vibrantly colored box at him and patting him on the cheek. Then, she had pranced away in a manner that terrifyingly reminded him of Yumichika.

There were even sparkles.

Zaraki shuddered.

And remained bewildered.

Meanwhile, Byakuya sipped delicately at his tea, barely glancing at the eleventh division captain over the rim and only halfway listening to him rant. He had discovered long ago exactly why it was that Kenpachi was adored by the women of Seireitei, and he had no intentions of revealing it to him, however, finding it much more amusing to watch the bafflement spread across Zaraki's supposed fearsome exterior.

It was days like this, with the other man seated close to him on the porch of his estate, looking up at a moonlit sky, that it became plainly obvious.

A heavy weight settled on Byakuya's side, a head on his shoulder as a spike poked him none too comfortably in the ear. "You know," Zaraki grunted. "Yer prettier without that high 'n mighty look on your face."

He could smell the sake on Zaraki's breath, and he blinked. He supposed that in Kenpachi's world that could be construed as a compliment.

"Bah," Kenpachi continued, one arm attempting to slip around Byakuya's body in a move that might have been subtle if it hadn't been so very noticeable. "Much better than Yumichika's crazy attempts at beauty, you know." He tapped a finger directly above the corner of his eye. "What's up with the feather, ne?"

The teacup settled down into its tea plate with nary a rattle as Byakuya turned to look into eyes just a shade lighter than his. "Perhaps the feather is his lovely item."

The other man blinked in stupefaction. "Ya say some pretty stupid things, hime." He grinned then, bearing his fangs. "But I like ya, anyways."

"Duly noted."

After all, he was Kenpachi's lovely item, and all of Seireitei knew it.

Not that Byakuya was vain or anything.

-----


	14. A Century of Bad Luck

**Title: A Century of Bad Luck  
****Pairings: Mentions of Byakuya/Hisana, implied Byakuya/Ichigo  
****Characters: Byakuya  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Spoilers for Byakuya back-story and the Soul Society arc  
****Words: 884  
****Description: Even the son of a noble family has his sufferings.**

* * *

Byakuya was beginning to think that his life was finally starting to look up, and after a century of bad luck, he figured it was about damn time.

It all started when his parents died and he became the head of his family. He didn't want to be the clan-head. He loathed it, feeling like he had been trapped within a gilded cage. Yet, there was very little choice, especially for him, and so he was stuck with the position.

His two closest friends, ironically both troublemakers in their own rights, were the next to leave him. If it weren't for damn Urahara, Yoruichi probably would have stayed. Still, like always, the fool couldn't do anything without the Shihouin heir at his side and took her with him.

They left Byakuya alone in his stifled castle without even the freedom of tag any longer.

Decades later, he had wanted to think that his life was finally turning around when he met Hisana. For him, it had been love at first sight, and for her… he still wasn't sure. Perhaps it simply had been his beauty or maybe the desire to escape from Rukongai. Regardless, he had suffered to marry her, putting up with the anger of his entire family.

Yet, she had never been anything more than lukewarm to him. He had wanted children; she hadn't tried that hard. He had loved her with all his heart, with his entire being, and she had merely accorded him the proper respect his position deserved. Still, he had been happy enough to have her at his side. He had been able to breathe easier, if not freely, and he had started to come alive again.

And then, Fate had decided to spit in his face by taking Hisana away from him. She was gone so quickly that he swore his heart shattered on the spot. Nevertheless, she had asked one last thing of him, one last promise.

And he had never been able to deny her anything.

He had found Rukia quickly, especially since she made it so easy for him. Her abilities landing her in the Shinigami Academy had been a minor stroke of good fortune, one which had faded all too rapidly.

At first, she had seemed hesitant to agree to her adoption into the Kuchiki clan. He had yet to discover what made her change her mind, and though he had adopted her as his sister, she never did warm to him. She had always been so distant… as if she were afraid of him.

With Hisana dead, Urahara and Yoruichi gone, and Rukia rather cold, Byakuya had been left with few friends. He had no one to talk to, if he felt so inclined. It had become that much easier to hide within his impassivity, his cold shell, which had earned him many nicknames from his fellow shinigami.

To make matters worst, his vice-captain, whom he had grown quite attached to, had decided that he didn't want to be a shinigami any longer. The man never could explain why or offer up any sort of explanation at all. He had simply abandoned his post, leaving behind a badge and disappearing to the four winds.

While Renji was a sufficient replacement, the fact remained that Byakuya had been abandoned once more.

Just like all those times before.

The last straw had been the betrayal.

His sister had been scheduled for execution, and he had done nothing but stand on the sidelines, all for a promise that he should not have made in the first place. Somewhere along the way, he had let go of his heart, clinging to his ideals. They had seemed to be the only thing that hadn't yet failed him, but he had been wrong.

It had almost been too late by the time he even realized it. Ichigo Kurosaki, a rookie by all accounts, had shown him what it meant to be an older brother. He had been beaten as if he were nothing more than a fourth-seat, which had been a serious gash to his pride.

By the end of it all, he had been left with nothing. Not his heart, his pride, nor his ideals. He had been nothing but an empty shell, and even that had been close to being destroyed. He had almost died from Ichimaru's attack.

"Just a few inches over," Unohana had claimed, her voice lacking its usual chirpiness. "Just a scant few inches… and the Kuchiki's would have needed another heir."

At the time, he had wondered if he was bothered by that fact, bothered that he had come so close to death. What had it mattered; he was already dead on the inside.

And yet, strangely, things started to look up then. His luck finally shifted. By saving Rukia's life, it was like Fate had finally decided to have mercy on him, or so he was coming to believe.

His century of bad luck was over at last. After a hundred years, he was finally able to breathe freely again. Byakuya once again felt like a real human being, like he was actually alive and not simply going through the motions.

And as strange as it sounds, he has Ichigo to thank for it.

Even if he was related to Isshin.

-----


	15. Rukia's Dating Service Ikkaku

Title: Rukia's Dating Service - Ikkaku 

**Pairings: Ikkaku/Ichigo**

**Characters: Ikkaku, Rukia, Ichigo**

Rating: T

Warning: Underage drinking! Cursing! Male/Male relationship! Also, I don't know how bars work in Japan, as I have obviously never been to one there.

**Words: 3,128**

Description: I said show him a good time, not land him in jail.

_Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. Tite Kubo has that honor. I am merely borrowing without permission._

Despite the first failure, Rukia was determined to find true love for Ichigo. And it wasn't so much that Renji was not a good match for Ichigo, as much as it was they were simply too similar for the type of love that the substitute shinigami needed. Perhaps it was also because Renji was young and still had that persistent crush on her brother. Either way, she had resolved to not let the first failure keep her from continuing.

Ichigo deserved to be loved after all.

Her next choice was Ikkaku. He was the first shinigami that Ichigo had made friends with in Soul Society, so it was only logical that she should progress to him. Besides, thanks to Yumichika, Ikkaku knew how to behave to an extent, and if anything, at least Ichigo would have some fun. Even if he was too young to do most of the things Ikkaku truly liked to do.

With her new choice firmly entrenched in her mind, she sought out Ichigo to tell him of his great luck. Predictably, he did not seem too enthused when she explained her plan.

Brown eyes shot her a disbelieving stare as Ichigo devoured the bento that Yuzu had prepared for him. "No."

Rukia pouted, and even if it never really worked on him, it always worked on Orihime. Ichigo was a sucker for crying women.

"But, Ichigo," she prompted in her sugary sweet voice, "I'm certain it will work out this time."

He glared. "No."

"What's going on?" Orihime chirped, munching on her own strange mixture of food, which Rukia didn't even want to contemplate. She shuddered just looking at it.

Calling up the waterworks, making her eyes all shimmery, Rukia turned towards her potential partner in crime. "Ichigo is soooo lonely; don't you agree, Orihime?" A very believable sniffle escaped her mouth as she wiped at a pretend tear. "And yet, he won't go on the special date I set up for him. All I want is his happiness."

Ichigo's scowl immediately deepened, making him strangely resemble Hitsugaya-taichou but with orange hair.

Orihime, however, was deeply moved. "Oh, no," she breathed, her eyes welling up as she clasped her hands in front of her. "That's terrible. Ichigo, how could you?"

"Manipulative bitch," the boy mumbled under his breath. "Fine! I'll go on your stupid date." He stabbed angrily at his bento with one chopped stick, picturing Rukia's head on the face of his umeboshi.

Rukia was unperturbed by his obvious reluctance and irritation. She sniffled quite convincingly as she and Orihime cheered. Ichigo glared at his bento, inwardly wondering just how bad the recriminations would be for killing Byakuya's sister. And people actually thought he was in _love_ with the crazy ass bitch.

Ichigo sniffed. He actually _pitied _Renji, especially if he had been forced to put up with this for a couple decades.

A sudden thought occurred to him as he ventured a question, breaking through Rukia's and Orihime's celebratory hug. "Is Ikkaku even gay?"

Rukia smirked, a devilish glint shining in her eyes. "Not yet."

Brown eyes blinked. "What?"

She waved him off with a flip of her wrist before trying to stab her straw into her juice box and having little luck. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll fall prey to your charms."

When he gave her a blank-faced and gaping stare, she sighed and turned away.

"Or maybe not."

Then again, males _did_ find attraction in the oddest of things.

Several hours later found Ichigo standing outside of the local McDonald's, tugging with much irritation at the collar to his shirt. It felt tighter than usual, not that his clothes weren't already form-fitting, and it rode up even higher on his stomach than he preferred. Not to mention that his pants felt as if they clung to every inch of his legs.

Rukia had thrown the clothes at him and then had promptly locked him out of his room, preventing him from seeking anything else to wear. He had considered breaking down his door for all of two minutes until his father had decided to get involved. The damn bitch had told him all about her plans, and after trying to go through his 'Daddy Gay Sex Talk' again, Ichigo had elbowed the man in the face.

Unfortunately, such a blow was only enough to faze his father for a few stunned seconds. He had just enough to time to pull on the offered items and dash out the door before his father recovered, tossing condoms in his wake.

This time they were grape-flavored, and Ichigo hated grape. Not that he would have taken them if they had been something else.

"Oy, Ichigo!" Ikkaku's voice rang out loud and clear.

Ichigo swiveled his eyes to find the older man waving at him from across the street. He was much relieved to find that Ikkaku had not been dressed by Rukia, and he probably had Yumichika to thank for that.

He would have to buy the man flowers or something.

Meanwhile, Ikkaku was crossing the road rather quickly, narrowly missing being hit by a very rude man in a small, bright yellow vehicle. After smashing the back with a firm whack of his wooden sword and gesturing violently at the driver, Ikkaku made his way to the other side unhindered.

"Yo," Ichigo greeted with a brief wave of his hand.

Ikkaku grinned, balancing his sword on one shoulder. "Yo."

They stared at each other for a moment, Ichigo fidgeting noticeably. Cars passed by, and the smell of fried foods filtered from the fast-food restaurant behind them.

"So," Ichigo began slowly, inwardly cursing Rukia within an inch of her over-extended life. "What do you want to do?"

The third seat grinned again. "Let's head to a bar, ne?" he suggested with a crack of one of his knuckles. "Been a while since I knocked a few back just for the hell of it."

Brown eyes blinked. "You have to be twenty," Ichigo countered. Not that he wanted to be the one to spoil the fun, but it simply wasn't possible.

Ikkaku, however, waved him off. "No problem," he declared, one hand digging into his pocket to produce an ID card, which he promptly waved under Ichigo's nose. "I've got ya covered."

Somewhat warily, the substitute shinigami accepted the proffered item and peered at it. His own face stared back at him, albeit with black hair and a much nicer expression. The name Shiba Kaien was scrawled across the top, and Ichigo frowned, flipping the card back and forth in his hand. He wondered who the hell this guy was and why they looked so much alike.

And why did the name Shiba sound so damn familiar?

"How'd you get this?" he asked.

Ikkaku slung an arm over his shoulder as he started directing them down the street and in the direction of what Ichigo could only assume was a local bar. "Rukia found it for me, and Urahara-san fixed it up a bit. The date was a little off."

If by a little off he meant a long fifty years. It was a good thing that the Japanese hadn't changed their ID style; otherwise, Ikkaku would have been sunk.

The younger man made a noncommittal sound in his throat, slightly worried since Sandal-and-Hat guy was involved. However, those thoughts faded when he finally took stock of their surroundings.

They were heading into the shadier part of town, where streetlights were fewer and gang members slunk out of the shadows. He found himself feeling a bit uncertain, despite the fact that he could take all of them out within seconds.

Swallowing thickly, cutting his eyes away from a guy that Ichigo swore was leering at him suggestively, he asked, "Are you sure that this was where you _wanted_ to go?"

Ikkaku nodded enthusiastically. "Yep!" he answered.

His friend steered them towards a squat building that was shoved between two huge warehouses. Ichigo would have never noticed it on his own since it was so small, and he nearly did a double take at the sign hanging at an awkward angle from rusted nails, _The Cock's Walk_ proudly displayed in English.

They paused outside, and Ichigo shot the dive a skeptical look.

"How did you hear about this place again?" the boy questioned, pretty sure that Ikkaku hadn't mentioned it before, but he wondered just the same.

The bald man shrugged. "Yoruichi?" he suggested before reconsidering as he rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his chin. "Or maybe Urahara-san. Does it matter?"

Inwardly, Ichigo gulped. His master, while a strong fighter, was one of the biggest perverts he had ever met, and that was including Keigo. He didn't feel in the least bit reassured.

Ikkaku prompted him forward, and trying not to drag his feet, Ichigo shoved his hands in his pockets and followed. The man at the door, who he could only assume was the bouncer, didn't even look up from his porno magazine as they walked by. He didn't bother to ask for ID either, which made Ichigo wonder why he even needed the fake one in the first place.

"Why did I need this again?" he asked as they stepped into the dark and smoky atmosphere, his lungs instantly seizing up. Everything seemed to be covered in a film of dirt and grime, and the odor permeating the air definitely wasn't fresh and clean.

He barely heard Ikkaku as the man mumbled something about Urahara wanting to play with his lamination machine as he led them to the equally crowded and dirtied bar. Shoving two sodden drunks from their precarious positions on stools, Ikkaku cleared them a space and gestured for Ichigo to sit. He did so, thinking that he should have gotten a hepatitis shot like Goat-Face had warned. In the meantime, the drunks crumpled to the ground and crawled away, seemingly not minding the trash that layered the wooden floor.

His gaze slid up and down the bar, taking stock of the other patrons, most of which looked as if they lived in The Cock's Walk. Except down on the far end, there was a woman who was vaguely good-looking, if Ichigo squinted. She was staring at them with little subtlety, basically raping them with her eyes. Ichigo shuddered before returning his own safely to Ikkaku, who didn't seem to notice the voracious female. Nope, the eleventh division shinigami was too busy trying to wave down the bartender.

"Whaddya want?" the man barked at them, smacking loudly on his gum. Before either could get their request out, his eyes suddenly flickered to another corner of the bar. "Yo, Linder, take that business outside unless I get a cut!"

"Got it, boss!" was the chirped response as a person, Ichigo couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, dragged another man out the back door. The door swung shut with a creak and a rattle behind them.

The bartender dragged his gaze back to them. "Well?" he grunted.

Ikkaku held up two fingers. "Whatever's on tap."

The man nodded and moved to fetch their drinks as Ikkaku turned towards Ichigo. "That's fine with you?"

Brown eyes blinked. Ikkaku asked him that as if Ichigo had extensive experience in drinking and ordering alcoholic beverages.

"Yeah, sure. I love… whatever's on tap," he responded vaguely, giving the man a strange look.

Ikkaku beamed.

That was that.

Twin plunks, a slight slosh, and two mugs were set in front of them, frothing at the top.

"Two o'the best," the bartender drawled, again not checking any IDs before he wandered off to another hollering patron.

Ikkaku downed his in one gulp; Ichigo took his reluctantly. He peered at it with apprehension, wanting to think that the glass was clean but unsure in the smoky haze. It certainly appeared to sparkle. As he contemplated taking a sip, Ikkaku was already signaling for the second.

The noise of the bar was annoying in the background, but Ichigo found if he concentrated hard enough, he could block it out. A shiver ran up his spine as the unnatural feeling of being watched… no, not being watched… being ogled intently washed over him. Suddenly, the idea of tasting his "whatever's on tap" didn't seem too bad, and with some reluctance, he took a tentative sip.

Surprisingly, it was rather tasty. Raising both brows at this unexpected occurrence, Ichigo greedily sucked down another mouthful before noticing that Ikkaku was already reaching for a fourth. A fourth!

And the feeling of eyes on him wouldn't fade. A bit unnerved, Ichigo surreptitiously glanced around, keeping a firm grasp on his mug. He caught gazes with that woman again. She was _still _staring, and Ichigo belatedly realized that she was looked faintly familiar. She seemed disturbingly like that crazy cannon lady.

What was her name again? Kukucachoo? Kuukie? Kutchaka?

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to recall.

Ichigo frowned and spent the next few minutes trying to remember. He absentmindedly drank half of his beer, noticing that the bartender had stopped waiting for Ikkaku to signal. The man had started filling up glasses and lining them on the side.

And still, Ichigo wondered when the fun was supposed to occur. He absentmindedly reached for another beer, sucking down the last of his first.

Around the ninth beer for Ikkaku, the man wasn't even tipsy yet, Ichigo contemplated a third. However, Ikkaku nudged him with an elbow, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Havin' a good time?" he practically hollered, even though it wasn't really that loud in the bar.

Ichigo shot him a look of clear disbelief, his ears ringing miserably. "We haven't done anything but drink."

"Yer right." Ikkaku yelled back. Then, he smirked, tossed back a tenth beer, and Ichigo grew wary. "Watch this." He turned to the guy sitting on his right. "Hey, you."

Ichigo blinked, wondering what was supposed to be so interesting.

The man, already completely sodden, turned slowly with a half-doped look on his face. "Wha--"

Slam!

Ikkaku punched him in the face without another word, a bark of laughter escaping his lips. Ichigo's eyes widened as the nameless man fell in what seemed to be in slow-motion, knocking directly into the guy just behind him and crashing to the floor. This other stranger immediately whirled around.

"Wha th'fuck!"

Realizing the perpetrators, Drunk #2 reeled back an unsteady fist and aimed for Ikkaku, but he missed rather unspectacularly and caught a stunned Ichigo in the shoulder. Pain blossomed as Ichigo grunted and stumbled off of his bar stool into the man next to him.

This man, jostled into spilling his beer, immediately cursed and sprang forward, leaping over the sprawled boy and attempting to tackle Ikkaku. Grinning, the bald man ducked and watched as Drunk #3 sailed over his head and landed in a sprawling mess onto Drunk #4. A table crunched. More alcohol was spilled.

The entire bar went silent and still for an instant.

Then, all hell broke loose.

With drunken and mumbled cries of rage and inebriation, an all-out brawl began. Ichigo barely had time to haul himself to his feet before he was dodging a flying fist. He took out that drunk with a punch to the belly as he simultaneously avoided an angrily swung barstool. Beside him, Ikkaku was grinning like a fool as he shamelessly beat his opponents like they owed him money. He downed another beer, somewhat swaying on his feet.

Some guy soared over Ichigo's head, despite the fact that he was standing.

Glasses crunched. The lights flickered. The bartender had taken refuge behind the bar, and Ichigo was sure that the strange woman was stalking their direction.

He twisted to avoid a flying table.

And somehow, in the chaos, Ikkaku managed yet another beer.

-----

Looking at the two males on the other side of the bars, Rukia could only shake her head and cluck her tongue. She placed both hands on her hips as she regarded their disheveled, torn clothing and blackened eyes with some wonder. Beside her, keys rattled as the policemen opened up the lock.

"I said show him a good time, not land him in jail," she reprimanded sternly as both trudged out of their cold cell. Still, a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

Ikkaku shot her a baleful stare as she shrugged. "She didn't look like no cop."

Trailing along behind him, Ichigo was rubbing at his head. The lights were too bright, and his head pounded as if Yachiru had been chewing on it. Still, he was glad that Rukia had come to bail them out and not his father. That was one thing he didn't think he could have handled this morning, hangover or no.

"Honestly," Rukia was saying as she led them through the police station, heading for the exit. She had already collected their belongings, including the fake ID that had miraculously survived the cops' inspection. "What part of this was romantic?"

"You didn't say nothing about romance," Ikkaku said. "Just fun."

They went by the front desk, and Ichigo noticed with some horror that the woman, who hadn't looked like a cop but more like that crazy cannon lady, was perched behind it. As they passed, she grinned and gave both males a saucy wink.

Ichigo shuddered and put on a burst of speed, remembering an unwelcome grope. He thanked Kami that she hadn't had time for a body search because he was certain she would have enjoyed it far too much.

Ikkaku remained oblivious.

Ichigo was certain that the man was gay.

The three stepped out of the station, Rukia still blathering on, but Ichigo had long learned how to tune her out. Blinking in the bright sun, his head pounding like he had spent the last two hours listening to Yamamoto prattle on, Ichigo's response time was significantly lessened.

Therefore, when "My baby's all grown up!" reverberated across the parking lot, he was too slow to block the arms that were thrown around his body, nearly suffocating the life out of him.

He recognized the tone, of course. Isshin had come after all.

Unamused and with a move that would have made any Kurosaki proud, Ichigo shimmied out of his father's crushing grip. A high, roundhouse kick across the chin, and Ichigo was proudly stepping on his father's twitching form, heading for the car. Ikkaku and Rukia were already waiting for him there.

Ichigo slid behind the steering wheel, not trusting either Ikkaku or Rukia's driving skills, and started towards home.

In the backseat, he distinctly heard Rukia mutter, "And I'll bet he's still not been kissed."

His eyebrow twitched. 


	16. Love is Enough

**Title: Love is Enough  
****Pairings: Jyuushiro/Byakuya, mentions of Urahara/Yoruichi  
****Characters: Jyuushiro, Byakuya  
****Rating: T  
****Warnings: Fluff, Male/male  
****Words: 1, 373  
****Description: And just this once, Jyuushiro chose to be selfish. An AU of Drabble 11.**

* * *

His palms were sweaty, and he swallowed thickly as he raised one hand to the closed door, poised to knock. It was unlike him to be so panicky and ruffled, but his stomach tingled with anticipation and rolled with nervousness. Taking several deep breaths to compose himself, Byakuya steeled himself and knocked lightly, three short raps with his fist.

The sound echoed, and he winced. It was all too quiet in the thirteenth division office, despite the time of the day. He idly wondered where Kaien was at. Probably conducting the new recruits in their exercises for the day.

Byakuya himself should have been training, but more important manners had pressed at him.

There was a slight cough before a gentle voice bid him enter.

Rearranging an already perfectly arranged uniform, Byakuya took another deep breath and slid the door open, stepping inside before sliding it quietly shut.

His senpai looked up from his paperwork, brush in one hand, before he smiled at Byakuya, eyes gentle as always. "Konbanwa, Byakuya. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. Come. Have a seat." He laid his brush down as he gestured towards the pillow in front of him.

The Kuchiki heir nodded wordlessly, unable to take his eyes off of Jyuushiro's gentle face as he lowered himself into the seat. His palms were sweating again, and he surreptitiously rubbed them on his hakama.

"What brings you here this evening?" Jyuushiro asked before his eyes suddenly widened in realization. "Oh, gomen. I nearly forgot; would you like some tea?"

Silvery eyes flickered to the teapot, a constant on the captain's desk before he shook his head. "No, thank you, senpai. I… I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" A white eyebrow rose. "About what?" He paused, reconsidering. "Is that kidoh giving you trouble again? The… Soukatsui?"

Again, Byakuya shook his head. "No. Thanks to your help, I've finally perfected it." He shifted in his seat again as he tried to steel himself for what he had come to say. He raised his gaze, locking on his senpai's perplexed expression, and without his consent, he flushed to the tips of his ears.

Across the desk, Ukitake finally began to understand. Something strange glinted in his eyes, and he silently debated with himself, knowing that his moment had finally come. Two paths were before him, and he knew which one he should choose. Byakuya was so young; he had so much life yet to live, so much time to find what he really wanted. And yet, he was here; the younger man had made his choice.

Now, it was up to Jyuushiro to make his own, and as the minute stretched on, he faltered. He knew what he should do, but the captain couldn't bring himself to do it. He had always been the nice guy, the one who gave much and asked for nothing in return. He was content with his life, but dangling in front of him was the chance to be happy.

And just this once, Jyuushiro chose to be selfish.

Shunsui would be so very proud of him.

He smoothly rose to his feet, faltering only slightly when a cough escaped him. "How about a stroll through the garden?" he suggested, feeling faintly nervous himself. "I could use some fresh air. I've been doing paperwork all day." He grinned and watched as Byakuya blushed again, his eyes falling away.

"Hai, senpai."

The Kuchiki heir rose to his feet with his usual elegance, and together, the two headed for the paneled door that separated Ukitake's office from a small garden he had built for himself several centuries earlier. The twilight wind rushed to greet them as they stepped outside, and a brief smile fluttered across Byakuya's face that Jyuushiro did not fail to notice.

They paused in the middle of the garden, right next to a bench that was settled across from a small, gurgling brook. The older shinigami gestured that they sit on it.

"Tell me," he began softly. "How is your mother?"

Silvery eyes fell on the brook, paying little attention to the soft noise of the bird chirping in the background. "She is doing well, considering the situation," the Kuchiki heir answered softly. "We are hoping for a few more weeks."

Ukitake clucked his tongue sympathetically. "I know that it must be hard for you right now."

Byakuya nodded, feeling that familiar lump rising in his throat. It was the same that he had been fighting down ever since they had announced his mother's illness. As much as he wanted to cry in fear for her loss, he had not. Above all, he was a Kuchiki, and Kuchiki men were composed and strong.

They did not cry. Or if they did, it was where no one could see them.

He swallowed thickly, turning to the thirteenth division captain as he remembered his original mission. He licked his lips, feeling the words surge to the tip of his tongue. All that was left was the courage to speak them.

"Senpai… I…" he trailed off, speech unsuccessful as his heart pounded loudly in his chest. For several years, he had been harboring this secret, hiding his feelings deep inside, but now, they had grown far more than he could ever hope to contain. They were consuming him from the inside out.

His eyes drifted off to the side as his nerve failed him. He could feel the patent flush of embarrassment spread across his cheeks, which didn't make his nervousness fade in the slightest.

And then, soft fingers covered his hands, which were currently clenched tightly in his lap. The unexpected touch startled Byakuya, and his heart leapt as he raised his eyes.

Ukitake was smiling at him again, calm and gentle as always. His dark gaze was even sparkling, hiding some emotion that Byakuya could not even detect.

"What do you wish to tell me, kouhai?" Jyuushiro questioned, hair fluttering in the breeze. He tilted his head to the side and leaned forward, something like anticipation flickering across his face.

The young shinigami took a deep breath, comforted by the other man's gentle touch. He opened his mouth to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue, but they lodged in his throat. He couldn't seem to get them past his lips. Frustrated by his lack of usual dignity, Byakuya settled for action. It was something that Yoruichi would have done… or Kuukaku and definitely Urahara. He figured as happy as they seemed to be that perhaps it was time he took a page from their book.

He leaned forward and closed the short distance between he and Jyuushiro, pressing his lips rather clumsily to the older shinigami's. Admittedly, it was his first kiss, and somewhat embarrassingly, it was very past due. As such, he was inexperienced, but that didn't stop him from moving his lips, trying to mimic what he had seen when he caught Kisuke and Yoruichi kissing.

Jyuushiro's tongue slipped from his mouth, briefly teasing the seam of Byakuya's lips before he reluctantly drew back, squeezing his kouhai's hands comfortingly. The Kuchiki heir immediately flushed, cutting his eyes towards the ground.

Ukitake found the blush rather endearing. He grinned, though it was much more heated and wild than his normal smiles.

"I had hoped it was not a one way attraction," the thirteenth division captain commented lightly, and his heart fluttered happily.

Shunsui was going to dance a damn jig when he found out.

Byakuya's cheeks literally burned. "I… uh…" he was stammering. He couldn't believe it. Normally composed as all members of his clan, Byakuya was stuttering.

Jyuushiro only beamed. "Let us enjoy the sky, ne? We can watch the stars come out." He squeezed Byakuya's hand again and turned his eyes heavenwards as their fingers intertwined, seemingly of their own accord.

A breeze rose up, ruffling their hair and carrying with it the scent of sakura blossoms.

Silvery eyes turned to the darkening sky as well, feeling more at peace than he ever had. All worries faded for a time, and the nervousness that had wracked him wilted away.

It was a long time before Jyuushiro decided to return to his paperwork.

* * *

a/n: If you guys are curious about what other drabbles I have coming, you can always check out my home site and the Seireitei Monogatari page. All of the ideas that I have finished or am presently working on are listed there, all the way to Drabble #29. Check it out if you are interested! Thanks for your continued reviewage! I look forward to more!


	17. Decorating Made Easy

**Title: Decorating Made Easy  
****Pairings: None  
****Characters: Hitsugaya, Matsumoto  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Foul language  
****Words: 527  
****Description: Frilly and lacey purple dots were not his style. Nor were feathers. Stripes maybe… but dots and feathers most assuredly were not. Sequel to Drabble 13**

* * *

Something was not right.

Hitsugaya laid down his brush as he gazed around his office.

It looked brighter. Cheerier. Flowerier. There were paintings everywhere… on the walls, the ceiling, and one that strangely decorated the floor near the sofa Matsumoto so loved. He could barely twitch his eyes without seeing a dozen more of the monstrosities, and the colors were so vibrant, that they almost made his eyes bleed.

Worse, most of them looked like something one of the Kuchiki siblings or Yachiru had created. Kami-sama, he was willing to bet an entire month's pay that even Tousen drew better than this. And he was blind.

Hitsugaya frowned.

"Where the hell are all these paintings coming from?" he demanded, addressing no one in particular.

Matsumoto chose that moment to stroll in, humming a cheery tone with a strangely wrapped package tucked underneath one arm. She didn't appear to notice her captain's obvious confusion.

"Matsumoto!" Hitsugaya growled. "What is that?"

She turned to him, face brightening even more. "Oh, taichou!" she chirped as she planted one hand on her hip and laid the package down on her desk. "I didn't see you there."

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously." He pointed his brush at her package. "What. Is. That?"

"What?" she questioned innocently. "This?"

He glared.

She waved a hand at him. "It's a gift," she answered before turning on her heels and strolling towards the one wall that remained startlingly bare. It was an interesting contrast to the rest of the office, which was almost entirely covered. Even some of the bookshelves.

His left eyebrow twitched. "For you?"

"Nope," she twittered, already pulling off the white wrapping.

Hitsugaya blinked. "For me?" he asked in complete disbelief. Nobody ever gave him gifts except for Ukitake and his own lieutenant, and those either consisted of candy or things he would rather not think about. Ever.

"No," Matsumoto replied, smirking like she knew exactly what was running through his mind at the moment. "For Zaraki-taichou."

He didn't get it. "And we have it because…?"

Matsumoto laughed as the paper revealed another bright and cheery painting, and just like the others, it was a torrent of mismatched colors. The thing featured an animal of some sort, which might have been a cat… or llama… or possibly even a goat. It was simply too difficult to tell.

Hitsugaya blinked his suddenly watery eyes and looked away.

"It's so dull in here, don't you think?" Matsumoto continued blithely, shooting him a dismissive look. "We need to spice it up a little."

Hitsugaya sighed, knowing that she was going to get her way no matter what. When it came to Matsumoto, he had learned early on to cut his losses and save his battles for much more worrisome things, lest he find himself smothered in a dangerously bared bosom.

Besides, as horrible as the damn things were, it still could have been worse. Yumichika could have been the one doing the decorating.

He shuddered as he thought of the last trip he had made to the eleventh division.

Frilly and lacey purple dots were not his style. Nor were feathers.

Stripes maybe… but dots and feathers most assuredly were not.

-----


	18. Someone to Protect

**Title: Someone to Protect**  
**Pairings: Renji/Orihime, mentions of Ichigo/Rukia, one-sided Renji/Rukia, one-sided Ichigo/Orihime  
****Characters: Renji, Orihime  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: None  
****Words: 797  
****Description: She needed a hero, and he desperately wanted to be one. It was as simple as that. **

* * *

She needed a hero.

And he desperately wanted to be one.

It was as simple as that.

His entire life, Renji had been searching for that one ideal, the one purpose that would give his existence meaning. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to_ be_ somebody. He wanted to shine in someone else's eyes.

Rukia had always been too strong, never really needing him no matter how much he tried. He couldn't save her, and she hadn't wanted him to. It was a truth that took all too long for him to accept, and even in the end, his heart didn't really want to believe it.

Time and time again, he was faced with his own failure, his own lack of skill. But he kept trying because it was all he had to cling to. A desperate desire to make his place, a want to be needed, a determination to become stronger than Kuchiki Byakuya, if only to see the look in her eyes.

Only, he hadn't expected Kurosaki Ichigo.

He hadn't been prepared for the substitute shinigami to turn Soul Society upside down and do what he could not. He wasn't ready to accept the shift when her gaze stopped landing on him, only to fall solely on the brat from Karakura. The substitute had become a genuine replacement, and he was left standing on the sidelines once more, wondering and waiting, reaching for a star that seemed too far for a dog to reach.

He hadn't wanted to accept it, but he had no other choice. She didn't need him to protect her. Yet...

A thank you.

It had started with a thank you, slightly stuttered and chirped in a kind tone. She had smiled and rubbed the back of her head, but her words had been genuine, her gratitude sincere.

He had been so stunned by it that he had nearly missed the next attack by the Hollow. As he had continued to fight, her voice and her words had resounded in his head, over and over. It had begun then, a strange thumping in his chest and singing of his blood.

He had won that battle. He had won it spectacularly, managing for once to come out unscathed, his body trembling with victory. And there, she had stood on the sidelines, that grateful smile on her face. She had been grinning and waving at him as if a battle had not occurred. She had offered to heal, just in case he had any wounds.

In her eyes, he was already strong.

He didn't know why he did it. Renji wasn't sure what exactly gave him the courage. He knew already; everyone knew except perhaps that dumbass, but Renji knew that Orihime was in love with Ichigo. In that, they were much the same, both desperately trying to grasp onto a love that would never be returned.

Renji knew this. He knew that her heart was strained and cracked; when her eyes turned to Ichigo, they swarmed with so much _love_ that it was nearly tangible.

Even Rukia knew, and she pitied Orihime, which may have even been worse. Then again, much could be said the same about Renji himself, about his own bleeding emotions.

They were both looking for something… for _someone_.

He still didn't know why he did it. He had mustered up his courage, tentative though it was, and silently had hoped that it wouldn't hurt this time.

He had asked her if she was hungry.

Bluish-grey eyes had blinked at him but not in confusion like he would have thought. Orihime was much smarter than people gave her credit for, and understanding dawned in her expression. Understanding… and maybe even the dimmest glimmer of hope as she had smiled brightly and nodded.

It had been easy from there.

He had opened the doors for her. She had smiled back.

He had bought her food with money swiped from Ichigo and had tried not to grimace when she mashed it all together into a very unappetizing paste. She had offered to share, and he had politely turned her down.

They hadn't spoken of Rukia or Ichigo. They hadn't talked of what they couldn't have.

And when a Hollow attacked several days later, she had thanked him again, this time for taking a hit that had been meant for her. Bluish-grey eyes had darkened with worry as she healed the minor wound.

She had cared.

In her gaze, he caught the same look, the same flicker of emotion. His heart thudded with the realization that he had found what he was looking for.

Orihime needed someone; she needed something to admire. She needed somebody to be her hero.

And Renji desperately wanted someone to protect.

It was as simple as that.

-----

A/N: Thanks everyone! Especially those who have me on their alerts or favorites list! I appreciate the support. Leave a review before you go! (And any suggestions you might have as well. I write down all requests and _eventually_ get to them).


	19. Bloodlust

**Title: Bloodlust  
****Pairings: Aizen/Renji  
****Characters: Aizen, Renji, with mentions of Gin, Hinamori, and Kira  
****Rating: M  
****Warnings: Weird, weird, weird. And dark. With blood. And M/M.  
****Words: 476  
****Description: Useless as a pawn but entertaining as a toy. He wondered when Renji would finally break.**

* * *

Blood was such an eerily, erotic color… or so Aizen Sousuke had come to learn. Spilt to the ground, it quickly faded to a dark brown around the edges, a bright splash of crimson in the center. Spattered across a person's skin, it tanned just right, and like the boy on the bed in front of him now, it was like art. Garish streaks of scarlet injury the same exact color as his hair.

Renji really did have the best hair, a lovely shade of war-spilt blood.

He tangled his fingers in it sometimes when he was holding the boy's head back, baring a throat for the plundering of his lips. He left marks those days, pulling up blood until it pooled just beneath the surface, just enough to match the scratches left behind by his fingernails.

He was so stubborn, so willful, and Sousuke had taken great pleasure in attempting to break him, in trying to snap that biting spirit. The boy screamed so prettily; he just couldn't help himself sometimes. A scrape of a fingernail across a bared back, drawing up lines that faded all too quickly for his liking. Marks left behind by his teeth, deep enough to cause the blood to well up in ruby droplets.

Night after night, three or four times a week, he would find his way to Renji's room. Just to hear those wonderfully erotic screams, just to watch beads of the sanguine fluid disappear in strands of hair the exact same shade. And when the morning came, as he slipped back into his own clothes and stalked into the dim, the best part was the knowledge that the boy would never even know.

Vague impressions of a happening slipping through his memories, a dream that seemed too real to be a dream; perhaps even a nightmare that disappeared in the light of the dawn. Renji would recall that and nothing more. Such were the wonders of an illusory bankai and a tiny, whispered spell of healing.

The boy was much too dangerous, too rebellious to make a useful pawn, not like his sweet, faithful Momo-chan or Gin's devoted Izuru. Still, there was much use to be found in Renji Abarai, and Sousuke took his pleasures late at night. And if the boy woke up in the morning with a faint impression of something that might or might not have been real, it was all the better.

Those strange, half-hidden and confused looks from beneath the boy's lashes when he thought no one noticed were amusing to Sousuke. When he was alone, he even allowed himself a good laugh about them. Useless as a pawn but entertaining as a toy.

He wondered when Renji would finally break.

After all, screams wrenched from that boy's throat were very enticing. And Sousuke planned on enjoying them as long as possible.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I appreciate all of you. And to those who have alerted/favorited me, thank you, also! I would love to hear from you. Those that have made requests, I promise, they are either on their way or in the process of being written! Check out my homesite to see what's coming up! See you next time!


	20. Two of a Kind

**Title: Two of a Kind  
****Pairings: Kenpachi/Byakuya (implied)  
****Characters, Kenpachi, Byakuya  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Total and complete crack. A joke that got far out of hand. No spoilers, though.  
****Words: 935  
****Description: The rumor mill never expected this one. **

* * *

It could be said that they were as different as twilight and the blazing heat of the midday sun, as opposite in every way that seemed important to the whole of Seireitei and especially the Kuchiki family.

There had been much speculation among the residents of Soul Society, most particularly around the Gotei 13, about the mechanics of how such two completely _opposite men_ such as the Kuchiki heir and the irascible scoundrel from Rukongai could have found themselves sharing the same bed. The favored story seemed to revolve around sake, lots of it, because surely there was no rational reason for the two men to even speak to each other much less do other such… disturbing things.

Yet, little did Soul Society know, they were all the victim of a cruel and lucrative joke.

It started out innocently enough. The barest mention of something that may or may not have happened. A raised eyebrow and a murmured suggestion of a perfect impossibility into one loud mouth's ear. There was giggling and repeated "no ways" when it began. Eyes cut one way or the other, faces flushed in disbelief before it was all promptly dismissed.

No one was quite sure who actually guessed it first. Most likely, Renji with his distinct inability to hold a secret, especially when drunk six ways from Sunday. He had probably told Ikkaku, who had mentioned it to Yumichika, who had promptly sent out letters of explanation to every blabbering gossipmonger in Soul Society. It blazed on from there, until everyone was talking about it.

_Everyone. _

Of course, no one knew that the strange and awkward rumor was the product of a complete misunderstanding. Byakuya had tripped, Kenpachi was drunk, and there might have been a flight of stairs involved. Now, why two such men were in the vicinity of each other in such disorientating states was a mystery yet to be solved.

Nevertheless, the sight of the noble Kuchiki heir sprawled on top of the ruthless, bloodlusty captain of the eleventh division was certainly an occasion to be talked about for centuries. Possibly longer. Especially since one large and calloused hand seemed perched possessively on a rather attractive and much lusted after butt, belonging to Byakuya of course.

Byakuya had seemed oblivious to the rumors, continuing in his daily duties with a complete look of blissful, impassive unaware on his face. Kenpachi responded to each query with a grunt and a glare, which probably made any who dared even ask scurry away in fear.

"Let the men have their secrets," they said. "It was too frightening to risk a question."

If they had known the truth, well, maybe even one as restrained as Unohana might have found a temper or two flaring.

Sake cups clinked, the alcohol nearly splashing out onto two very different hands. Kenpachi grinned as he tossed back the whole shot, enjoying the very subtle burn as it sped through his body. He threw his bulk against the wall of his home, stretching out his legs in front of him and staring up at the starry sky as he reveled in the feeling of sore muscles and the lingering after scent of blood. Not his own but that of his enemies, the Hollow he had slain that very day.

Byakuya was more refined, swallowing a small drink of the sake with the same effortless grace he did everything else. He sat straight-backed on the edge of the porch with robes perfectly arranged around him. His own eyes were settled on the garden, which he had been surprised to learn Kenpachi owned. Bright colors and fragrances had not seemed the man's style.

A fanged smirk and a gleaming eye turned to watch the Kuchiki heir over the rim of his cup as he reached for the half-empty bottle. "You kill shit good," Kenpachi grunted, tipping it over to refill his cup.

Dark hair barely shifted as Byakuya tilted his head in acceptance, sipping serenely at his sake. "Thank you," he replied in a cool tone, tinted with pride and arrogance like most of the nobles in his family.

A bark of laughter escaped the eleventh division's captain lips as he threw his head back. "You're cool, hime. I like ya." His declaration thereby finished, he threw back another shot and grinned, pleased that their little planned joke had gone so well.

No one was the wiser, and they would probably furious if they had been. They never stopped to consider what a bored and recently self-discovered Kuchiki Byakuya would be capable of, nor what he would be capable of when encountering a similarly bored Zaraki Kenpachi. Humorous deceit was only part of it.

They mostly enjoyed having got one over on refined and stifled Soul Society.

"When ya wanna tell them the truth?" Zaraki asked, after a moment of companionable silence.

The Kuchiki heir smiled just then, a faint turning up of his lips. But for all intents and purposes, by the gleam of the moonlight, it strongly resembled Kenpachi's bloodthirsty grin.

"Let them believe it a while longer," he replied simply, voice taking on a hint of enjoyment. "It still amuses me."

Kenpachi dissolved into raucous laughter once more. "We're just two of a kind, ain't we, hime?" He wiggled the nearly empty sake bottle, raising an eyebrow at the sixth division's Captain.

Byakuya merely held his cup out for more, a silent acceptance. "It would appear so," was the serene response.

Frightening several small children and a flock of chirping birds into flying off into the night, Kenpachi's laughter could be heard echoing across Seireitei.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I just have a few announcements for those that are interested. Venturing on over to my website and you'll find a few neat things. I have all of my AMVs posted, including a few that go with my drabbles - some Byakuya/Renji, Gin/Hitsugaya, (this drabble hasn't been posted yet but will be in a few days), and a few others. I also have a Fan Art page up now, displaying all of the art that I've been given, including one wonderful piece for 'Lovely Item' (Kenpachi/Byakuya). I'd love to receive more! I'm also announcing that I'm finally going to attempt a full-length Bleach story and am currently in the process of planning it. The title and description are up for you to take a peek at, if you want!

I _do _take requests and I write every single one of them down, I promise. I don't know when and where they will come out, but they will get done… eventually. If you want to see what I've got planned, see the homesite. I think I have them listed up to number 38. Thanks to everyone who reviewed for me. I appreciate all of them very much!


	21. Inevitable

**Title: Inevitable  
****Pairing: Gin/Hitsugaya  
****Characters: Gin, Hitsugaya, mentions of Aizen, Matsumoto, Kira, Tousen, and Hinamori  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Angsty, Male/Male  
****Words: 938  
****Description: No one had ever known. It was an inevitable lie that wasn't meant to last. That didn't make the pain any easier to accept. That didn't keep him from breaking inside.**

**

* * *

**

No one had known, of course. It was smarter that way. They couldn't tell anyone, especially not Matsumoto since he was sure that he never would have recovered from being smothered to death. Besides, he would have gone deaf from her constant fangirlish chirping.

The both of them had kept it the strictest of secrets.

It was funny how things turned out that way.

Everyone had thought it was Kira. Everyone believed that Kira was the one who bore the brunt of Ichimaru's affections. Hitsugaya supposed it was better that way, more easily acceptable to the masses.

Everyone also thought he was too young to understand anything about sex or love or romance really, not that they always had to go hand to hand. He was a child to them, a boy to their all knowing minds, and it was strange that Ichimaru with his unopened eyes could know him more for who he was than anyone else ever had. Even Matsumoto and the blind captain of the ninth division saw him in the same fashion as everyone else.

Humph! Everyone was foolish.

He couldn't honestly remember how it happened or even when and why. He couldn't explain if someone asked him to. Hell, he couldn't even answer the question himself. He simply knew and accepted, and that was enough for both of them.

Ichimaru didn't question it either, oddly enough, especially since he was always so full of questions.

Hitsugaya had known that there was always a tiny piece of himself that Ichimaru always kept hidden, kept to his own. He hadn't known Ichimaru's plans with Aizen and Tousen, but he had suspected something, not that it prompted him to do anything about it.

There was a level of unspoken… not trust, but there was something along those lines lying between them. It was enough to keep him from saying or doing anything preemptively. It was enough to ease his mind as he slept at night, Gin's arms wrapped around his waist, his head on the man's chest

Still, he hadn't expected the betrayal.

And when everyone was looking, he had played the part perfectly, just like they had always done. Even if the smile everyone else saw on Ichimaru's face was different than the one Hitsugaya's heart was privy to. As strong as the both of them were, it was strange how no one ever questioned how little damage they had actually done to one another or even the buildings around them.

Bizarre that no one wondered why Hitsugaya wasn't dead. After all, Aizen's attack was enough to kill him. No one knew why the traitor had been lenient, why he had held back just enough to leave the boy captain alive.

No one knew but Hitsugaya, and he wasn't talking.

It was inevitability in the making that the very lies they had been hiding behind would eventually come to betray them in the end. It was the line that had always separated them, the one thin and barely discernable line that kept them from having a complete hold on each other. Hitsugaya could no more stop Ichimaru from leaving than Ichimaru could have taken him along.

He wouldn't have gone.

At least, that was what Hitsugaya tried to tell himself. Deep in his heart, in the secret parts of himself, he knew that he just might have followed had he been given the choice.

It was his duty as a captain to uphold the law and order of Seireitei, but duty wasn't everything. It didn't smile at him, encourage him to laugh more often and to enjoy life. It didn't take him on secret picnics or leave little notes in his paperwork that always brightened his day. It didn't accept him as he was, ice and draconic temperament and all the rest.

It certainly didn't love him.

Still, Matsumoto had been the one to weep, the one to curse her best friend, her brother of the heart, for walking away as he had always done. Hitsugaya had sat at his own best friend's bedside, watching her breathe with the help of a machine. He couldn't find it in himself to do anything more.

He couldn't break because they couldn't know. At least, he couldn't break on the outside; he had already shattered within.

He knew it was a war. Hitsugaya was well aware of this fact. It was looming on the horizon, a dark shadow of the Arrancar and a madman's bid for power. And he knew that at some point, some time in the future, that rotten little thing called Fate would intervene once more.

He would be standing face to face with the man that had taught him to enjoy the little things, the little smiles that he had never looked twice at before. He would see the man that no one had ever known could make him melt with just a touch, with a gentle kiss.

And the age-old dance would begin, a dance of skill on skill and on opposite sides of an insurmountable crevice.

It would hurt; he was sure that it would destroy him in a way he couldn't even fathom now. Perhaps his wounds would heal one day in the distant future; maybe his heart would mend, leaving a scar that would always remind him.

Yet, in the end, he couldn't escape, not that he would try. He clung to his duty with every ounce of his remaining strength; it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment, the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Besides, Hitsugaya had learned long ago to accept the inevitable.

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A/N: For anyone interested, there is a companion AMV to this piece made by yours truly. This is the link here: http:// www. youtube. com/ watch?v10ihFkCc69M Just take out the spaces. Thanks for reading! And I really do appreciate every review and request I get. 


	22. Exception

**Title: Exception  
****Pairings: One-sided Aizen/Ukitake  
****Characters: Aizen, brief mentions of others  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Spoilers, possible Male/Male  
****Words: 524  
****Description: There was an exception to every rule. **

* * *

There was an exception to every rule, no matter how concrete. Especially when it concerned a man like Aizen Sousuke, one who made it his mission to bend or break every rule possible.

The truth of the matter was that as much as Yamamoto's prattling annoyed him and Byakuya's perfect composure rankled him, there was always one person he reserved his deepest hatred for.

He hated this man even more than Shunsui and his drunken disregard for everything, including his firm grasp on a power Aizen wished he could obtain.

Far more than Unohana's unfailing gentleness or the fact that nothing could ever disturb her.

Greater than Zaraki's bluntness, his freedom to be himself, and Mayuri's disgusting eccentricity.

It went beyond even the genius of Urahara and Hitsugaya.

Contrary to popular belief, there was one person in Seireitei, or truthfully no one now that he had gone, that did not like Ukitake Jyuushiro.

It wasn't even so much an issue of like.

Sousuke _loathed_ Ukitake Jyuushiro.

He poured hatred into the older shinigami's existence with as much emotion as he could muster. On the outside, he was nothing if not the same tender and generous Aizen, smiling at everyone he met. Yet, inwardly, he seethed in a flaming pool of resentment.

He despised the other captain for his power, insurmountable and beyond comprehension, yet trapped within that frail and useless body. Aizen himself had only been witness to Ukitake's skill and strength once, and it had remained abundantly clear that there was even more simmering beneath the surface. And yet, an impromptu coughing fit had ended it before Aizen could even begin to fully appreciate the grandeur.

A waste of reiatsu, he had reasoned.

He loathed Ukitake for his beauty, for long and flowing white hair. For that damned inherent grace Aizen could never quite grasp with his broader frame. For the unfailing acceptance glinting behind dark eyes that were very close to an onyx gleam. They were all parts of Ukitake he could not mimic, despite how desperately he wanted to.

Further, he loathed the man for the desire he unwittingly raised inside of Aizen himself. He hated Ukitake for the fluttering the man caused in his heart, for the fact that Jyuushiro had never looked at him as anything more than a friend. A much cherished friend perhaps… but just a friend nevertheless.

Most of all, he hated the other captain because no matter how much he smiled or how kind his words, he was nothing compared to Jyuushiro's unending benevolence. Everyone would always love Ukitake more, would always see him as the perfect gentleman, leaving Sousuke in the shadows… making him forever second best.

He loathed Ukitake since, in the end, he had had the last word. Even if Aizen's own had lingered longer and echoed louder, Ukitake's would be the ones remembered, forever resonating inside of Sousuke.

For that one brief and agonizing moment, Aizen had doubted himself and his own resolve. For a single instant, he had wanted nothing more than to apologize, to throw himself at Ukitake's mercy.

And the truly sad thing was… Jyuushiro would have forgiven him.

* * *

A/N: Computer still not fixed. Updates will be slow but don't worry, I will still be writing. Thanks for sticking with me!


	23. Is This Seat Taken

**Title: Is This Seat Taken?  
Pairings/Characters: Aizen, Ichigo, Tousen, Gin  
Rating: T (for gropage of the M/M kind)  
Warning: Rampant OOC. Very bad innuendo. (Come on! It's Gin; what do you expect?)  
Words: 2, 655  
Description: Sort of a prequel to Drabble 6: I Surrender. Based on that brief flash of Aizen, Gin, and Tousen at the end of Sealed Sword Frenzy, the OVA.  
**

A yawn attacked him, but Ichigo fought back with a well-won firm stretch of his arms, easing muscles that threatened to cramp. It was never that smooth of a transaction from body to spirit and back to body again. Especially if he let Kon's strange self fit awkwardly into the nice little niche Ichigo had created for himself. Luckily this time, he had had no need for the modified soul.

That didn't make him any less tired. Out for his morning stroll, the underlying whirr of a Hollow had caught his attention, close to a school yard where it could harm any young child. And like a true hero, Ichigo had raced to the rescue. Of course, a ridiculous three-second fight later, he was wondering where all the challenge had gone. Aizen was only sending them his cast-offs to fight.

Frankly, it was boring.

Cracking his neck and ignoring the stares of idle passersby, Ichigo contemplated returning home for breakfast. Except that he knew goat-face was there, and he didn't relish another conversation about inane things.

It was then that his eyes happened to catch sight of an outdoor café, pleasant smells wafting from its general direction. Intrigued, Ichigo turned his steps towards it, only to freeze in utter and complete surprise.

Did his eyes deceive him? Was that really none other than Aizen, Ichimaru, and Tousen sitting at a table and eating breakfast, as if they were not attempting to take over Soul Society and by proxy the world?

Well, truthfully, Tousen seemed to be the only one eating.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, hoping to clear away what was most certainly an apparition. Only, it didn't disappear. He blinked again, looked around to see if there were other random Shinigami appearing, who could also view this spectacle.

None did, of course.

He tried pinching himself, as he had once heard Keigo suggest in a fit of stupidity. And blinked again.

Yet, they remained.

There was no choice left but to confirm it.

Steeling his resolve, Ichigo stepped towards the table and gestured towards the one empty chair. "Is this seat taken?" he asked as pleasantly and not "what the fuck are you doing in my town?" as he could muster.

Both Ichimaru and Aizen looked up at his arrival, pretending as if they hadn't already recognized his constantly leaking reiatsu and raising their eyebrows. The brunet grinned as did Ichimaru, smiles that made Ichigo slightly uncomfortable as they seemed to be tainted with lecherously. But it could have just been in his imagination. The silver-haired male reached over and pulled out the chair in invitation.

"What's going on?" Tousen asked, frowning slightly in confusion. "I can't see. Who is it, Gin?"

Ichigo shot the man a strange look that he couldn't see since his reiatsu was practically leaking from his pores, but Aizen smoothed it over.

"It's Kurosaki-kun. You remember, don't you, Kaname?"

"Joinin' us fer breakfast, Ichi-chan?" Gin asked with another wide grin as he gestured towards the seat, catching Ichigo's attention.

Surreptitiously looking around as if expecting Rukia to pop out of the bushes at any moment, Ichigo slowly slid into the seat. He half-expected the Arrancar as well, thinking they would pop out of the ground like daisies when his back was turned. He was especially on the look out for the helmet guy and the blue-haired freak; he couldn't remember their names.

It was then that a waiter appeared out of nowhere, vaguely resembling Hitsugaya and Ikkaku's love child, to hand him a menu. Ichigo blinked, accepted it, but didn't look, setting it down on the table in front of him. He returned his attention to the others as the waiter scurried away, staring in slight discomfort. Aizen had his usual smile, while Gin flipped through the menu. Tousen was calmly eating his breakfast as if nothing out of the usual was occurring, seemingly unconcerned with Ichigo's presence.

"So… come here often?" Ichigo asked somewhat warily; the silence that had settled not exactly unnerving just… there.

Aizen's smile widened. "From time to time. I recommend the Eggs Benedict. It is a western dish."

That dark gaze centered on him, and for a moment, Ichigo felt as if Aizen were undressing him with his eyes. He unconsciously shivered, placing his hands in his lap as if it would protect him from x-ray vision.

"I like the French toast," Ichimaru claimed, adding in his two yen's worth as he grinned with an obvious taste for something else. "With _strawberry_ syrup."

Ichigo shot the silver-haired man a look that was a mixture of confusion and wariness, but Ichimaru continued as nonchalant as before.

"Do you have a sweet tooth, Ichi-chan?"

The substitute Shinigami shook his head. "Umm, no. I'm not really hungry right now."

But the moment the words left his mouth, his stomach released a growling roll of hunger, proving otherwise. Feeling his face burn with embarrassment, Ichigo stifled a groan of annoyance.

"Come now, Kurosaki-kun. Surely, you could enjoy a simple meal with us," Aizen attempted to cajole, his voice strangely inviting.

Ichigo wondered if it was the same tone he used to weave Hinamori into his web of seduction. Then again, she was probably already insane to begin with.

Still, before he could respond, the Hitsukkaku waiter chose that moment to appear, slightly impatient and pen poised over his writing pad. Ichimaru and Aizen spouted off their orders faster than Ichigo could register, and then, those eyes were on him. He fidgeted under that annoyed stare because he hadn't once looked at the menu.

Running over both suggestions in his mind, neither of which sounded particularly appealing, he felt pinned on the spot. His stomach chose to protest his lack of food once more, and in a panic, Ichigo settled for ordering scrambled eggs and toast, also a western dish.

A smile, slightly frightening, took over Hitsukkaku's face as he bowed, gathered up the menus and promptly vanished into thin air, leaving them all alone. It wasn't until he pondered on his choice that he realized he had not a single bit of cash on him. He had left his wallet at home.

As if reading his mind, Aizen smiled, sending a shiver that was not interest down Ichigo's spine. "Don't worry, Kurosaki-kun. Breakfast is on us."

Wary of his motives, Ichigo nodded his acceptance. He couldn't help but wonder why Aizen kept saying his name, practically purring the syllables and dripping them from rather kissable—

NO, he did not just think that. Nope, not him at all.

Silence fell. A fork scraped in the background as Tousen continued to eat, seemingly oblivious to the growing disquiet. Aizen and Ichimaru continued to watch every move Ichigo made like two overgrown hawks. He couldn't help but wonder why they were in Karakura in the first place. It wasn't as if Shinigami weren't on constant patrol.

'_Maybe they were hungry_,'his mind suggested.

His irrationality argued, '_Or maybe they were looking for virgin sacrifices to further their cause_.'

He had to suppress an "eep!" at that one.

'_Maybe they have a fondness for western dishes_?'

'_Impossible_.' His sensibility snorted. '_They're obviously here to start trouble with their civilian clothes and distinct lack of zanpakutou…_'

"Or maybe the food in Hueco Mundo sucks," Ichigo muttered under his breath, ending that particular self-argument.

Ichimaru nodded vigorously, having heard that mumbled comment. "Everything tastes like sand," he piped up.

Aizen, however, seemed to disagree. "It is actually rather decent. I am quite _satisfied_ with both Ulquiorra's and Grimmjow's abilities in the kitchen." The moment he spoke the word satisfied, his lips seemed to pull into a lecherous grin directed completely in Ichigo's direction.

For some reason, the thought of the Arrancar cooking made him vaguely queasy. "I see," the boy responded warily, snorting at the thought of either cooking.

"Perhaps you could come by and visit one day, just for a taste, Ichi-chan." Ichimaru tilted his head to the side, sparkly hearts fluttering around him. "We would love to have you for dinner."

Ichigo didn't quite know what to think about that, pretty certain that that hadn't meant what he thought it meant. Luckily, the food arrived just then, saving him from having to make any brilliant comeback. In the background, a pained looked seemed to have taken over Tousen's face as he mumbled a word under his breath, Ichigo just barely managing to catch "justice" and the resulting glares from his companions it dredged.

As his food was set in front of him, Ichigo picked up his fork. It was then that he felt it, tentative at first and then gaining in confidence; a foot began to rub on the bottom of his leg. Thinking it an accident, Ichigo shifted, but it came back again, stronger than before. Caressing up and down his calf, sending tingles through his body. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out who it belonged to. Both Aizen and Ichimaru seemed guilty. And he was pretty certain it wasn't Tousen.

"Maybe some other time," Ichigo finally responded, his voice strained. "I've got all this training to do in order to… uh…"

'_Defeat you guys_,' his mind reminded him nastily, but he didn't say that.

"…ummm… get stronger."

To his horror and mortification, Ichimaru took that opportunity to grin and lean forward, reaching out with one thin hand and squeezing Ichigo's bicep. "But you're so muscular already, Ichi-chan," he murmured, fingers lingering a bit on the soft cotton.

Embarrassed, his face turned a color to match Renji's hair, especially when the foot that he belatedly realized had _no shoe_ started rubbing higher on his leg, aiming for the sensitive portion of his thigh. At that point, he figured it had to be Aizen since Ichimaru was much too close and didn't possess rubbery, bendy legs of doom. Ichigo snuck a look at Aizen, whose head was propped up on his hand. He was avidly watching the boy from beneath heavily lidded eyes, trying and failing to look innocent.

The whole event just seemed ridiculous.

Ichigo made a strangled sound, which was absolutely not panic, and no, he was not aroused at all. Not in the slightest. It was simply a natural body reaction, which happened to everyone. So he tried to think of all the things that should disgust him, his fingers tightening on his fork.

Like the shower! Yes, the shower. With a naked Sandal-and-Hat guy in it.

Only that didn't work.

Then, he thought of Renji, but tattoos and steam and red hair made it worse. He tried Byakuya since he hated the smug bastard. But the Kuchiki heir was rather attractive beneath his sneer with porcelain skin and full, pouty lips…

Ack! Bad thoughts. He was getting desperate.

Rukia! Yes, Rukia, naked with water everywhere…

And oh, god! He had nothing left but his trump card.

Goat-face singing in the rain with duckies and _naked_.

Ichigo felt a full body shudder attack him. Now, mildly under control, he managed to say something. But all that came out was a cough. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, but it was then that the treacherously seductive foot finished its dangerous route and rose past the point of no return, nudging an already painful arousal. All that emerged from lips was a mortified squeak that was in no way related to a moan.

Ichimaru's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Yare, yare. I didn' know males could make that sound."

"Is our guest all right?" Tousen asked, mildly perturbed, as if Ichigo's squeak had offended his usual sensibilities.

Aizen leaned forward. "You obviously have untouched potential, Kurosaki-kun. You only need a guidance, a _nudge_…" Insert gropage with foot here. "…If you will," he finished.

Images were no longer effective. In an effort to cover both his embarrassment and his massive erection, Ichigo hurriedly shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. And promptly choked.

A cup of water was shoved in his face, nearly splashing over a pale hand. "Drink?" Ichimaru suggested.

Ichigo continued to choke.

"Oh, no!" the silver-haired man continued, feigning complete and utter worry. "I'll have ter perform _mouth to mouth_." The last was said with a sadistic sort of glee that frightened the substitute Shinigami.

Ichigo swallowed down the huge mouthful of eggs and coughed. "No, no, I'm okay," he said frantically, waving away the rapidly approaching Ichimaru.

"My… that was an awful _big bite_ to _swallow_. Are you sure you are all right, Kurosaki-kun?" Aizen asked in his best "I'm pleasant and not about to molest you" voice.

Ichigo nodded vigorously and then promptly choked again when Ichimaru began licking strawberry syrup from his fork, incredibly long tongue sliding out of his mouth to caress the silverware in a seductive fashion. Even Aizen seemed impressed, both of them now avidly watching his show. Ichigo didn't even notice the foot groping him anymore.

It was then that Hitsukkaku brought their check, blasé about Ichimaru's talented tongue. Aizen discreetly snatched it from the table before anyone could offer. The foot caressed Ichigo one last time before disappearing, and the boy absolutely did not miss it. No way. Not at all. And no, he was not immediately going to go home and take a long, hot shower.

Cold! A cold shower. Very icy and steamy and no! Bad thoughts!

"I suppose that brings to an end to this luscious morning," Aizen murmured, sounding faintly disappointed.

Ichigo blinked, now in complete disagreement with himself. He tore his eyes away from Ichimaru, who was still molesting his fork.

"Huh?" he commented brilliantly.

Brown eyes gleamed. "Well, I am sure that you are as busy as we are, and the morning is fading away on us." Aizen rose to his feet, the chair scooting out behind him with barely a sound. "People to do, and things to see, after all."

The boy nodded in sudden understanding. "Right." He looked down at his partially eaten food but didn't feel so hungry anymore.

Abandoning his plate, he rose to his feet. "It was… fun?" he said, making it sound like a question as he half-shrugged.

Aizen laughed, and Ichigo has never heard a sound so charming.

Did he really just think that?

"Something like that," the former captain replied. "I'm sure it will be even more so in the future.

At his words, Ichimaru and Tousen both rose to their feet as well, forks clattering to their plates.

"See ya, Ichi-kun," Ichimaru announced with a wave of his hand as he fluttered away, the blind man trailing after him.

Ichigo half-heartedly waved back before turning his attention to Aizen, who was handing money over to Hitsukakku. The waiter had scurried up when the boy wasn't looking, and he couldn't help but wonder when this strange event would be over. Or why it had even begun.

Ichigo sighed to himself, his eyes than falling on Aizen's completely clean plate. In all of the molesting, when had he found time to eat?

With his distraction, Aizen approached him. It was his voice that disturbed Ichigo from his ponderings.

"See you next week, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen murmured as he reached up and gently touched the younger male's face. Just the briefest brush of his fingers, but it made the substitute Shinigami hard all over again.

He was practically panting as the former captain turned away, murmuring under his breath, "It's a date."

Ichigo nodded in a haze before he could figure out what the hell had gotten into him. Aizen was the enemy!

"Yeah, whatever," he agreed distractedly, turning to walk away.

He got a good twenty feet from the café, still musing on the entire event when it suddenly hit him like a bolt of lightning. He paused mid-step, foot still hovering over the ground.

Wait? Next week? A _date_?

It wasn't until then that he realized he still didn't know why they were in Karakura in the first place.

-----


	24. Rukia's Dating Service Urahara

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service - Urahara**  
**Characters/Pairings: Isshin, Rukia, Yoruichi, potential Urahara/Ichigo, Isshin/Urahara, mentions of Urahara/Aizen  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Rampant OOC, older men kissing each other, gobbling of food, etc, etc.  
****Words: 3, 192  
****Description: If at first and second, you don't succeed, try again. **

* * *

It would have been a quiet, typical dinner. It should have been a quiet, typical dinner, but with all things concerning Kuchiki Rukia, nothing could ever be _simple. _The word wasn't in her vocabulary. In her mind, it had been completely erased, obliterated from existence.

But the word complicate? Now, that was her favorite.

Ichigo was well used to her using it quite often.

It started out simple enough, he supposed. She was still smarting over her last failure, determined to make it up to him. She was certain he was lonely, and her little fangirl heart was determined to see him paired up with someone. Too bad Ichigo was tired of playing her little matchmaker game.

"How about Urahara?" Rukia suddenly blurted out, attempting to bat her innocent eyelashes and hold sway over him as always.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed into slits so that he might have been mistaken for Ichimaru Gin. "Hell, no," he said firmly and through clenched teeth. His fingers tightened on his chopsticks, threatening to snap them in half.

Breakage was imminent.

Until he noticed the odd look on his father's face. Now, normally, Ichigo didn't look at Isshin when all were gathered at the dinner table because it was disgusting to watch his father eat. But circumstances as they were, he happened to catch an unwanted glance and found something he hadn't expected to see.

Not only had his father been completely silent at Rukia's suggestion, but a funny look had crossed over his face. If Ichigo didn't know better, he might have thought it was jealousy. But since that was impossible as Goat-Face did not possibly know Sandal-and-Hat guy, it could not have been jealousy.

Perhaps he had gas.

Not wanting to go down _that _particular route, Ichigo made a face to himself, glared at Rukia, and went back to his food. Yuzu had cooked it, after all, and it would be rude if he didn't eat. He hated to see the look of disappointment on her face. It made him wibble inside.

"Then what about Kira?" Rukia suggested, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Ichigo had already said no once and wasn't going to play her game.

He sighed, another negative on the tip of his tongue, but that was only until he comprehended just who she had said. Tilting his head to the side and pondering, Ichigo realized that a date with Kira did not sound half-bad. In fact, it was rather intriguing. Kira seemed kind and sensible and cute. And most importantly, _sane_. And well, there was something about those baby blues that were incredibly inviting.

"Fine," he grunted.

She beamed at him. Yuzu and Karin completely ignored the little exchange as they were quite used to the antics. However, that starry-eyed look never vanished from Isshin's eyes. Ichigo could smell trouble, and he didn't like it. Nope, not one bit.

Which was why he found himself standing inside an amusement park at the asscrack of dawn, waiting for Kira – Izuru, he reminded himself – to arrive. Well, perhaps it wasn't quite the asscrack, but nine in the morning did seem awfully early for him to be awake on a Saturday. Luckily, Ichigo had already bought the tickets and was currently waiting, not snoozing, on a bench, perched beneath a tree that fortunately shaded him from the sun. It wasn't too bad of a position, really. It was a peaceful, nice moment, what with the music playing softly in the background and the wind gently blowing through the trees. He rather liked it.

Well, that was until a green and white blur appeared out of nowhere, throwing its arms around his neck and proceeding to hug him to death. He was frighteningly reminded of his father in that moment and began to panic, wanting to get away from the terrifying glomp of affection. Only, he knew this wasn't quite Goat-Face. No, Ichigo recognized that familiar green and white stripe.

"Sandal-and-Hat guy?" he managed to squeak out through the clenching of his ribs. He vaguely noted that Urahara smelled better than Isshin, much like candy. The strange urge to consume floated up in him, along with a sudden desire for chocolate.

Odd, really.

His words were the trigger it seemed. Urahara instantly pulled back, pulling his fan out from that mysterious, invisible space it seemed to stay and snapping it in front of his face.

"Yare, yare, Kurosaki-kun. And since we're already such great friends now, you can call me Kis-uke-chan!" he declared, eyes daring around as if he were looking for something else, though it was difficult to see that beneath the hat.

His eyes turned to snake-like slits. "I don't want to call you anything," Ichigo growled. "What did you do with Kira? You didn't kill him did you?" he demanded, in that second, all of his wonderful fantasies of having a calm, nice date with Kira dying a horrible, bankai death.

He was going to _kill _her, murder her, make a nice fillet of her treacherously, conniving body.

That familiar and annoying laugh slipped from Urahara's mouth. The one that meant he was almost certainly hiding _something_.

"Of course not. I don't know what you're talking about. Dear, sweet, Rukia-chan told me to come here and meet Kurosaki." He stepped close to the irascible teen, rubbing shoulders with Ichigo in a friendly manner. "We're going on a date!"

Even as he spoke the words, however, his eyes were telling another story, again scanning the area.

Ichigo was still suspicious, especially since Sandal-and-Hat guy was acting weirder than usual. "Are you looking for somebody?"

The candy shop owner gave a slightly nervous, unUrahara-like laugh. "Should I be?"

The substitute shinigami could only regard him with confusion and a strange look. He wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he simply dismissed it as he did most of the inane and unimportant things that Urahara said.

"So… um…"

"Why don't we go ride the roller coaster while we wait?" Urahara suggested, the fan disappearing to its usual fourth-dimension of non-existence.

With nothing better to do and resigning himself to his fate, Ichigo agreed. "Okay," he said as they walked away, heading for the nearest line.

Luckily, this time of year, it wasn't too long. But it was then that it hit him.

He stared at Urahara, certain he had missed something. "Wait? Wait for what?"

The candy shop owner merely laughed. "Oh, you know," he responded dismissively. That nervous, unUrahara-like look was back in his eyes.

"No, I don't," Ichigo said flatly.

He had the feeling that there was something going on that he didn't know about. And he hated it.

His hair was then ruffled, in an almost fatherly motion, which was filled with affection.

"Yes, you do," Urahara assured him.

Ichigo opened his mouth to say something in the negative when the dull murmur of conversation behind him suddenly caught his attention. Along with a very girlish giggle. As if unable to control himself, he began to eavesdrop with little subtlety.

"Look at the blond in front of us," came the loud whisper.

There was an answering giggle. "Isn't that so sweet? He's here with his son."

"Though the kid must take after his mother with that hair."

There was a girlish sigh, almost of one who was daydreaming. "Yeah, but isn't it cute? They're bonding, and you know how kids are these days."

Ichigo felt his eyebrow twitch at their words and had half a mind to turn around and glare at the women, just for appearances sake. Urahara? His father? It was bad enough that he was related to Isshin!

Beside him, the candy shop owner was snickering into his mysteriously appeared fan.

Finally, they were seated on the ride, scrunched into seats barely large enough for a kid much less a teenager and strapped down with so many belts and buckles that Ichigo half-thought he was at a bondage fest. Urahara seemed especially giddy; Ichigo was fighting not to throw up. Battling Hollows and flying through the air on his own power was slightly different than being strapped into a rickety contraption of rails and such under someone else's control.

Or maybe he just didn't like giving up control.

The roller coaster started with a lurch, and Ichigo held on for dear life, too startled by the constant up and down and steep curves to even utter a peep. His companion, however, was not the least bit embarrassed to display his fun. It was rather like going somewhere, anywhere for that matter, with Isshin.

Ichigo felt that full body shudder once again.

Some date.

Afterwards, with jelly-like legs firmly planted on the ground where they belong, the two loitered outside the exit, trying to decide what to do next.

"How was it?" Urahara asked, likely talking about the ride but somehow coming out in Ichigo's mind as something entirely different.

He struggled for a vaguely coherent answer. He furrowed his brow.

"Like Shunpo, but not really," he responded, only then noting that Urahara was acting… strange. Not once had he been groped or fondled. Actually, if he dare thought it, it was more like Urahara was being _fatherly_ of all things.

The former captain laughed. "That makes sense," he responded.

Then came the awkward silence and usual shuffling of feet.

Ichigo groped around for a suggestion finally coming up with, "How about a snack?"

Grinning, Urahara snapped his fan closed, somehow having held the thing during the entire ride. "Sounds good to me."

Decision made, the two headed for the nearest snack bar, getting into the rather short line and waiting patiently. Ichigo made his order of a funnel cake with Urahara echoing him. He couldn't help it; the western cakes were dangerously addictive. Besides, it wasn't his fault if the powered sugar got everywhere.

Reaching into his pocket with the intention of paying since he knew cheapskate Urahara wouldn't, the substitute Shinigami was distracted when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. But it was impossible. There was no way that Isshin was also at the amusement park. Surely, he was just seeing things. It was then that Urahara's arm slid past his slack figure, discreetly setting money into the waiting cashier's palm. This started Ichigo out of his fugue, and he blinked, shocked as hell that _Urahara_ would _willingly _pay for _anything. _

She smiled winningly at the handsome man in the striped hat. "Here you are, sir," she flirted in her most pleasant voice, handing out the paper plates covered in fried dough and powered sugar. "And one for your son."

Ichigo accepted his with a firm and hateful scowl. He couldn't decide which was worse: people thinking Urahara was his dad or the fact that Isshin really was his father. It was currently a 50/50 debate.

Turning around to leave the line, Ichigo's day went from bad to pitifully worse. He came face to face with his worst nightmare, an enthusiastic Isshin.

His scowl deepened. "Goat-Face," Ichigo muttered, barely tipping his head in greeting.

"Isshin," Urahara greeted, his voice strangely chipper.

The smile on his father's face was too broad to be real. "Iiiiiiichigo!"

"Yoruichi," both Urahara and Isshin at the same time, bringing Ichigo's attention to the fact that the Shihouin heir was actually standing just behind his father. He hadn't even noticed her.

Tch, damn ninjas.

She grinned. "Ooh, cake. I love those."

Without another word, she sprang forward and promptly stole the funnel cake from Ichigo's slack grip. He gaped at her audacity until another one was pressed into his hand, to his surprise, it being the one that Urahara had bought. And he had done it, seemingly without thinking. Thus another reason for Ichigo's head to spin.

It was all just too _weird._

With an aggravated exhalation, Ichigo turned his attention back to the two old farts, only to realize that they were staring at each other with a look that could only be described as blatant longing. His eyes widened in disbelief as they ping-ponged between the two men. Behind him, Yoruichi continued to stuff her face as she subtly started coaxing them in the direction of the rest of the park.

"We've been waiting for you, Isshin," Urahara suddenly said in an astoundingly bright and cheery voice, just barely hinted with a bit of nervous tremble.

Ichigo had never heard _that _tone before.

Wait.

"We have?" he asked, blinking in confusion.

Scratch that.

"Wait! You _know_ each other!?!"

"Of course we do, Ichigo," Isshin responded, shooting his son that annoying look that he always seemed to carry around in his back pocket. "Don't you remember your Uncle Hara?"

"U-uncle Hara?" Ichigo repeated, even more confused and now slightly scared.

Had Sandal-and-Hat guy been in his house and he not know it?

Isshin nodded enthusiastically, throwing his arms wide. "Yes! He was there for us after dear, sweet Masaki passed. He held me when I cried rivers of sorrow, comforted me through those long and lonely nights, put my life back together when it was in tatters." He paused dramatically before adding, "And even gave Karin and Yuzu baths when I could hardly pull myself from bed."

Brown eyes nearly popped out of his bed as he shoved a slightly shaking finger towards Urahara, who was barely concealing a laugh behind his fan. "That p-p-pervert?" he demanded, stuttering in his outrage. "You trust him around your children?"

It was then that Yoruichi, having finished pigging out on the first one, snagged his second funnel cake before he could even taste it. He was simply too distracted to realize it, and at this point, he was too concerned to even care.

"Let's go ride something," she chirped around a mouthful of cake, completely interrupting the entire conversation.

"Ooooo, how about the boat ride?" Isshin suggested in all too girlish tone, clapping his hands together enthusiastically.

She pumped a fist into the air. "Great idea!"

Popping the last of the funnel cake in her mouth, which she had devoured in no more than three bites, Yoruichi threaded her arm through Ichigo's and manhandled him towards the ride. He had no choice but to stumble along, any protest on his part dismissed. In the back of his mind, he mourned the loss of the nice date he could have had with Kira.

Such a tragedy.

Luckily, since it was the lamest ride in the amusement park, there was absolutely no line. They were seated immediately, Isshin and Urahara crowding into the front seat, while Yoruichi pulled Ichigo onto her lap in the back. He promptly scurried away and pressed against the far side of the seat, away from her seductive wiles. Still, he felt like a mouse in front of a hungry cat.

As the boat jerked away from the dock with a jolting movement that made him cling to the sides, Ichigo realized he was not having any fun at all. Especially when he could hear the low tones of the conversation in front of him, which was incredibly disturbing.

"We were waiting for you, Isshin," Urahara was saying, repeating what he had already told the other man earlier.

The thought occurred to Ichigo.

"Wait? How did you get here?" he asked his father, incredibly confused. They still hadn't told him how they knew each other.

"Yoruichi came and got me," Isshin replied with a bounce – yes, a _bounce_.

The boat rocking, Ichigo clung harder.

"Why?" Urahara asked, tilting his head to the side. He waved his fan in front of his face, regarding Isshin from beneath the rim of his hat. "Didn't you know you were supposed to meet us here?"

Isshin stopped rocking. "What?"

"Rukia-chan said to meet Kurosaki here. And then, I saw Ichigo-kun and thought it was supposed to be three of us. Bonding!"

Ichigo's eyebrows sprang into his hairline, but he had completely given up on either of them explaining how they knew each other. Instead, he buried his face in his hand and shook his head, letting loose a groan of embarrassment. An elbow jabbed painfully into his side.

"It's about damn time," Yoruichi whispered loudly once she had his attention, leaning uncomfortably close.

Startled, the youngest male blinked. "For what?" he asked warily, slightly afraid of what she was talking about.

She grinned and gestured with her head to the others in front of them. "Just watch," she said with a sly grin.

He didn't know if he wanted to. Yet, unbidden, the words floated his direction and he had no choice but to hear them.

"I've always liked you, Isshin."

"But you and Sousuke-kun?"

"It didn't work out between us."

Ichigo frowned. Where had he heard that name before? It sounded so damn familiar.

Nevertheless, Urahara continued, his voice surprisingly soft and… regretful? Was that a serious, sorrowful tone?

"He wasn't you."

Ichigo's mouth dropped open as Yoruichi got all teary-eyed, sniffing dramatically and wiping at pretend tears on her face. She sighed with a girlish romantic headshake and clutched onto Ichigo's arm, still avidly watching the plot unfold. He didn't want to look, but some cruel fate out there dictated that he couldn't tear his eyes away.

There were hearts in Goat-Face's eyes. Honest to Kami-sama, bright red and sparkly, fluttery hearts that he usually reserved for his mother's pictures. Seconds later, the boat rocked violently as Isshin threw himself at his companion and promptly locked their lips together. Urahara's hat was knocked away and nearly drowned, only save by Yoruichi when she plucked it delicately from the air and jauntily stuck it on the head.

Ichigo watched with a sort of morbid fascination that quickly became horror as two men he never wanted to see even touch began to make out right there in front of him. And one was his _father, _his flesh and blood, _Goat-Face. _And wow, he did _not_ need to see Isshin's hand going there.

Ichigo sunk down low in his seat, covering his face with his hands and attempting to block out the noise by singing show tunes in his head. He felt trapped with no place to run. He even debated on whether he would rather get wet or continue subjecting himself to this _display. _The sounds of kissing and groping and moaning kept floating to his ears, and he knew that he would be scarred for life.

He never heard a happier sound than when the boat finally struck dock. He was out of the boat faster than he could yell "Bankai!", constantly rubbing at his eyes and wondering why the visions just wouldn't _go _away.

Yoruichi hopped out after him since it seemed the other two weren't finishing anytime soon. She promptly latched onto his arm, claiming something about being hungry, but he wasn't listening, too busy dazedly walking in a stupor. He mumbled under his breath, a very unfavorable compliment to a certain matchmaker. He vowed that she would pay.

And somewhere in Karakura, Kuchiki Rukia felt a cold wind brush across the back of her neck and shuddered, wondering if now was the perfect time to _run._

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a/n: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted/etc me! Your support has been inspiring! 


	25. Unshakable

Title: Unshakable  
Pairings/Characters: Chad, Ichigo, could be taken as slash  
Rating: T  
**Warning: Spoilers as always.  
Words: 465  
Description: Inspired by Episode 35. Ichigo has always been able to feel him.  
**

* * *

"_Because I can feel it. I've been able to feel him since we landed in this place. Besides, I can't see Chad ever losing. He's too strong and determined." _

_Ichigo, Episode 35  
_

* * *

A strong, solid presence at his back. A formidable foe who refused to raise a fist unless it was in his defense. That was Chad, Ichigo noticed. He always felt that they were connected, in more ways than one. From the moment they met, something sparked between their eyes, and it was as if he had met his best friend. The only one who could understand all the parts inside he was trying desperately to hide. 

And the best thing about Chad was his silence. His presence. He had an aura about him that was always calming to Ichigo. And no matter what was going on or how troubled Ichigo was feeling inside, Chad just radiated tranquility. Without Ichigo even having to ask.

It was kind of nice to have someone like that. Someone he could be close to, who didn't demand anything in return. Unselfish and just plain there, Chad was the indomitable presence, one who grounded Ichigo when everything seemed to spiral out of his grasp. He could be afraid or unsure, he could be unsteady on his feet, but just one glance… and he could be assured that Chad was there. Sometimes, it was just that he was there.

Ichigo had always been strong on his own, but with Chad, with the others, he was so much stronger. That was why he could never imagine Chad losing. Nor himself, for that matter. The thought of seeing that solid presence, that tall and unwavering visage, crumble or fall was beyond his comprehension.

He could feel it, deep inside of himself. The steadfast spirit that was Yasutora Sado, the vigorous and secure aura that calmed his rattled spirit. There was a thread, the vibrant crimson thread of Ichigo's soul, indubitably tied to so many others, wrapped around the soothing, pristine white of Chad's. There were the threads of others, too, but he couldn't understand them as well as Chad's. He didn't need to.

And it was soothing, that mix of vibrant scarlet and dove white, amusingly like a candy cane if he thought too much about it. His thread was thin and sharp, coiled and restrained. Chad's was wide and whipcord strong, flowing smoothly and faintly rippled, as if barely sitting on the top of a placidly moving river.

It was because he could feel him that Ichigo was grounded, that his own resolution never wavered. And though he may have faltered for just a fraction of a second, he never fell. But if he did, he knew it wouldn't matter anyway. Those strong, untiring arms would be there to catch him before he would even strike the ground.

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Thanks for reading!

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	26. Bankai Envy

**  
Characters/Pairings: Shunsui, mentions of Byakuya, Matsumoto, Ukitake, Hitsugaya  
Rating: K+  
Warnings: None that I can think of.  
Word Count: 525  
Description: It simply wasn't fair. Everyone knew that he loved flowers, so why was Byakuya the one with the cool Bankai?**

* * *

Kyouraku Shunsui was sulking, or more appropriately, cutely pouting. After all, men like Shunsui did not sulk or brood or anything like that. He sat in his window seat, chin perched in his hand and stared morosely out into the garden, admiring the flowers that he had planted because hey, he liked flowers, didn't he?

You see, Shunsui had a problem.

Well, it wasn't really a problem per se or even an issue. It was simply a feeling, a wonderance, an emotion. Plainly put, he was jealous, green with envy, completely covetous.

He was centuries older than the Kuchiki heir, and yet, he was jealous. Completely and inexplicably so. He suffered from a most terrible ill, a worrisome stress.

Shunsui had been struck with Bankai envy. Well, there was some Shikai envy also but not nearly as much. Two swords were rather neat, after all.

It simply wasn't fair.

Byakuya-kun's bankai looked like flowers, a whole rain of cherry blossoms, and everyone knew how much Shunsui loved flowers. And besides, his own Bankai was boring. What was so great about wind, anyways?

All it did was blow.

Matsumoto had so smartly chirped to him that he was good at that, the whole blowing thing, before promptly reminding him just what he and her captain had caught him doing the other day.

He had shot back at her, equally smart, that she was just jealous because she didn't have her own Jyuu-chan to cuddle.

In return, she had grabbed poor Hitsugaya-taichou and proceeded to suffocate him in her breasts, which was rather unfair of her to do so directly in front of Shunsui. She had never offered to suffocate _him_in her breasts. Anyway, _she_had claimed that she had her own Shirou-chan and that was good enough.

Well, Shunsui couldn't really argue with that because he had a Shirou-chan, too. The discussion was ended, and the topic dropped, but he continued to envy Byakuya from afar.

He had offered to trade zanpakutou with the Kuchiki heir, but Byakuya-kun was remarkably stingy. He wasn't very amenable to the idea and had coldly informed him to "cease such ridiculous behaviors and act your age for once."

And now, his sweet Jyuu-chan had finally sought him, asking why he had pestered Byakuya-kun about his sword for the nth time.

Shunsui soundly informed him that he wasn't pestering, merely requesting a favor repeatedly. It wasn't his fault that Byakuya-hime wasn't prone to giving favors.

Jyuu-chan looked at him, ruffled his hair as if to say "what am I going to do with you" and told him he was much too old to pout.

Shunsui clearly stated that he was not pouting but considering his options. He thought that maybe Byakuya-kun would be willing to trade zanpakutou if he gave him a gift. Perhaps a year's supply of those scarves he liked so much?

His lover laughed, and there was no sweeter sound in the world to Shunsui than it, and invited him out for a drink. Shunsui was certainly not going to say no to that, and he allowed Jyuu-chan to drag him away.

It was boring pouting anyways.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews and alerts and favorites! I write for you! 


	27. Substitute

**Title: Substitute  
****Pairings/Characters: Isshin, Jyuushiro/Ichigo, Jyuushiro/Kaien (onesided)  
****Rating: T  
****Warning: Implied Yaoi, Serious Isshin, Spoilers for Episode 111  
****Words: 942  
****Description: Father's are supposed to protect their sons, but even Isshin knows when it's time to let go. Isshin's POV.**

* * *

He had to find out from someone else.

His own son had said nothing, just flitted off into the night in his shinigami form, completely convinced that his father knew nothing of his other life. Admittedly, Isshin hadn't told him that he used to be a captain and a shinigami as well. But the damage had been done.

He was getting older; Isshin had realized this. Getting past the age that he actually needed to chastise his son for everything. Ichigo had always been closer to Masaki than his father, but Isshin had hoped that his son would talk to him. Not that he ever had before.

Rukia had let it slip; purely by accident, he was sure. She wasn't even talking to Isshin, but to Kon, explaining why Ichigo's absences had been so lengthy lately. Or more like screaming since Kon seemed to inspire a sort of annoyed fury in her that Isshin never wanted to experience for himself. Ever.

But no one had told Isshin a thing. Urahara had to fill in the rest of the blanks.

He wasn't surprised to find that his son sought affections in other men. He knew Ichigo, knew that his eldest never really looked twice at women or females, for that matter. But he had been surprised to learn just who he had chosen. Isshin knew Ukitake Jyuushiro. He knew him very well from his own time as a captain, and he couldn't help but worry.

It's in a father's nature to worry.

Obviously, no one had told Ichigo; otherwise, he would probably question it. Isshin admired Jyuushiro for his strength, but the man was also a coward. He was certain the white-haired shinigami neglected to tell Ichigo just who he resembled for fear that Ichigo would leave him. It wasn't a secret, but no one was telling him. No one explained that were it but for a shade of hair, Ichigo would look exactly like the man Jyuushiro could never have.

Shiba Kaien had been a man who was easy to love: harsh where it counted and strict but also incredibly kind to everyone. And though he was a member of a formerly noble family, he hadn't carried it around like a mantle as did most of the others. He had been loud and boisterous, far more energetic than Ichigo, and he definitely scowled a hell of a lot less. It had been hard to find Kaien without a smile on his face.

He had always been close to his captain; they were the best of friends. Kaien had been good for him, taking charge when Jyuushiro was too ill to move and oftentimes supporting him when Shunsui could not. Still, it had been plain to see that there was much simmering beneath the surface, at least to anyone who had eyes and knew where to look. Kaien had remained peacefully oblivious to the longing that had glinted in Jyuushiro's dark eyes. It hadn't been his fault that he was happily married.

And that was what had always been the problem.

Now, Isshin feared that Jyuushiro was only his using his son as a Kaien substitute. There was no denying how the two eerily resembled each other. Admittedly, their personalities were nearly polar opposites, but to Jyuushiro's eyes, they might have been the same person. Isshin didn't want to see his son being held up to expectations he couldn't fulfill.

No matter how much Ukitake wished it, Ichigo wasn't Kaien and never would be.

He wanted to say something, to tell Ichigo that he knew of his liaisons with the older shinigami, that he knew they were courting or whatever the kids were calling it these days. He watched as his son came down for breakfast, looking as if he had been up all night but with an undeniable look of happiness in his eyes. It wasn't so noticeable as a big smile or a chipper expression, but Isshin knew his children.

Something in the boy had changed.

The words were on the tip of his tongue. They were there, waiting to be spoken, waiting for him to say something, anything, warning Ichigo away from what was certain to be a broken heart. Karin even seemed to realize something was up, her eyes flickering to her brother. Yuzu remained oblivious, chirping in her usual happy tone as she served breakfast.

Isshin knew it was his duty to protect his son, even if it meant from himself, and honestly, he planned on it. He had thought about it, carefully choosing the words in his mind.

But to do so would have required so many other explanations. All the truths that Isshin had been hiding would be forced into the light, and he wasn't ready for that. He didn't know if he would ever be prepared for that.

With a sigh, he lifted his gaze to his son, who was absentmindedly eating, his thoughts clearly somewhere else. Isshin had something to say, searching for the words. Some kind of warning, some kind of disproval, some kind of _something_.

"What?" Ichigo was scowling at him now.

The look in Isshin's eyes was solemn, probably speaking volumes that his tongue couldn't. A moment of silence passed before Isshin grinned and promptly threw himself at the table.

"Wake up, call!" he roared, nearly throwing dishes to the ground.

A foot met him in the face.

"I'm awake already, dumbass," came the surly response as Isshin crashed to the floor.

Maybe some things were better left for him to find out for himself. Besides, Isshin wasn't so out of practice that he couldn't kick Ukitake Jyuushiro's ass if needed.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Especially to those that have favorited or alerted me, and those that have reviewed!


	28. It Seems to be Catching

**Title: It Seems to be Catching  
Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Kira Izuru, Shuuhei, Renji, Iba, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Mentions of Others  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Spoilers for Bount Arc (not that anyone really cares)  
Words: 1774  
Description: Ichigo discovers the crush he never knew he had. Somewhat sequel to**_**The Big Players**_

* * *

Ichigo tried not to scowl as he watched everyone gathered around the table drink heartily of their liquor. In front of him sat a glass of orange juice. Juice since he was too young to drink. The bastards knew it and had still brought – read _dragged_– him there anyway.

They had accosted him the moment the incredibly botched strategy meeting had let out and had refused to let go. Ikkaku and Renji had latched onto him, declaring that they were going to show him how to have "real fun." Whatever the hell that meant. He had yet to see it.

Besides, he had tried to get away, but Rukia had caught him and had made him march right back. She had argued about him being a coward or something stupid like that, and rather than get in an argument with her that he was bound to lose, he had sulkily agreed and had trudged along after them. Renji had muttered about him being whipped, but a sound beating by Ichigo had the vice-captain thinking twice about saying it again.

Now, Ichigo sat bored as hell in a raucous bar, half feeling like a monkey in a cage. They were laughing and shooting him side looks, even as they ribbed Renji endlessly for the… _event_ that had taken place during the meeting. In other words, the passing of gas that had inspired a heated debate.

Sighing, Ichigo turned his attention to their conversation.

"It wasn't me, man!" Renji protested, shaking his head repeatedly. His cheeks were stained with a red flush, having consumed his share of sake. "I keep tryin' to tell ya that."

Iba rolled his eyes, though it was hard to see behind his dark sunglasses, and jabbed Renji with his finger. "Sure. Whatever ya say. Just don't nobody give him any beans."

More laughter hit their table as Ikkaku added, "No wonder no woman wants yer ass," he said as Renji glared, though it was somewhat watery. "Ya probably stink her out of the room."

Yumichika sniffed. "Now, Ikkaku, you're no one to be talking of indecent odors," he remarked, primly sipping at his red wine. He and Kira were the only others not taking place in the uproarious laughter.

"Tch," Renji countered with a noisy snort. "What d'you know? You ain't got a woman either." His eyes glanced around the table, taking in the slightly dull stares of his friends as he waved his cup of sake to gesture. "Ain't none of ya do. The closest we've come is Rukia livin' in his closet." He jerked his thumb at Ichigo, who scowled at being included in their dumb conversation.

As if on cue, all eyes turned towards the substitute Shinigami.

"Pray tell," Yumichika purred, purple eyes sparkling with interest. "This sounds far more intriguing than their disgusting banter."

"There's nothing to tell," Ichigo mumbled, hunching down and kicking out a foot boredly. He struck someone under the table, but whoever it was seemed too drunk to notice. Either that, or he had merely struck the table leg. He couldn't be sure.

The collection of men exchanged knowing glances, causing Ichigo's eyes to narrow.

"What?" he growled, certain that they were talking about him.

Shuuhei leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. "You sure you're not gay, Kurosaki-kun?" he asked, lifting a brow.

Ichigo was so stunned he nearly choked on his next breath. "What the hell?" he sputtered, gaping.

"Got a point there, senpai," Renji added with a chuckle. "Rukia slept in yer closet, and ya never once put the moves on 'er." He gestured with his cup again, spilling the contents all over the table.

"But she wears my sister's clothes," Ichigo protested, getting sick at just the thought. "And her… underwear and her _clothes,"_he insisted.

Ikkaku didn't look convinced. "Oh, yeah?" he leered. "Then what about the time Yoruichi-san was naked in front of ya, eh? Didn't look then, did ya?"

Despite the fact that he was wondering how the hell Ikkaku knew about that, Ichigo was quick to respond. The substitute Shinigami clenched his fingers against the table.

"Cat!" he exclaimed, thoughts beginning to get jumbled. "Human and the thing and then… blah! _Cat!_"

Yumichika hummed in thought. "But when Matsumoto-san offered to sleep with you, even going so far as to unbutton her shirt, you covered your eyes, Ichigo-kun."

His face burned; he could feel it. "The breasts!" he practically shrieked, gesturing wildly now. "And the thing and…"

He seemed to blame a lot on "the thing." Whatever "the thing" was.

Then, Kira spoke, though it was so quiet Ichigo almost missed it. In the back of his mind, he groaned.

'_Not you, too.'_

"What about Orihime-chan?" Kira asked, significantly less accusing than the others, almost seeming disappointed. "Doesn't she love you?"

Ichigo blanched at the thought. "She's just a friend," he quickly pointed out. He had known Inoue _forever_. She was just another Tatsuki to him.

Alas, his words fell on deaf ears.

Iba, who had yet to offer up a suggestion, Shuuhei and Kira all exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Yumichika sat back, grinning in a very strange manner. Ikkaku and Renji toasted their sake cups.

"Gay," the six of them chirped at once with definitive nods.

Ichigo slumped. "But I'm not," he argued, though it didn't sound as certain as he would have liked. "Am I?" he asked himself out loud.

"Yeah, ya are," Iba agreed with a nod. He lifted a brow. "So… who is it?"

He was aghast. "_Who is it_?" Ichigo repeated with a wince, nearly crestfallen at being outed without realizing it. He lowered his eyes and pondered.

Considering he had only just learned such a startling piece of information, how was he supposed to know who he had a crush on? He didn't even know he was gay. Isn't that something he was supposed to know already or something?

"Well, he does look at Kuchiki-taichou funny," Renji suggested, cutting into Ichigo's musings. "And call him by his given name."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "He tried to kill me."

"But Zaraki-taichou does the same thing!" Ikkaku argued, pouring himself yet another cup. "And ya just run away from him."

"You can't go by that. He calls Hitsugaya-taichou by his first name," Yumichika pointed out deftly.

They fell silent, all determined to discover the secret crush Ichigo didn't even know he had.

"Maybe one of the Arrancar or something?" Iba suggested.

Ikkaku promptly smacked him upside the head.

"What? Fuck no!" Ichigo snapped, looking offended.

"Ukitake-taichou?" Izuru prompted quietly, eyes gleaming bizarrely. "He seems nice."

Ichigo considered this, glad that someone of intelligence had joined this foray. How in the world Kira Izuru was friends with this band of ruffians was beyond him. Well, ruffians and Yumichika. He was still trying to figure _that_ one out.

"He's kinda old for me," Ichigo finally answered with a shake of his head.

"That fourth division guy?" Ikkaku questioned, grinning since he was starting to enjoy this. "Ya know. That droopy-eyed wimp?"

"Hanatarou? No."

Iba furrowed his brow. "That Quincy kid?" His suggestion was tentative.

Ichigo made a face. "That sew-happy bastard?" A scowl twisted his lips. "I'd rather stab myself in the eye with Zangetsu."

Pursing his lips, Shuuhei thought really hard, which was difficult since he was well on his way to becoming intoxicated. "Sado-san?" he suggested, not certain if he was saying the right name.

It was beginning to feel like a guessing game.

The substitute Shinigami waved him off. "We're just buddies. It would be like Ikkaku making out with Yumichika?"

Around their group was a collective shudder.

Yumichika turned his nose up in the air. "As if I would," he declared primly before fluttering his eyelashes at his best friend. "No offense, Ikkaku."

The bald man dismissed it, and the guessing continued.

"Urahara-san?"

"That pervert? Again with the stabbing in the eye."

"Keigo?"

"Gimme a break, Renji."

"Kyouraku-taichou?"

Ichigo blinked. "Who?"

"The one who wears the hat. And pink haori."

There was another confused look.

"Who?"

They gave up.

"Kurotsuchi-taichou?"

Shudders were shared all around, and Iba was promptly slapped upside the head once again for even suggesting it.

There was a pause. "…Aizen?"

"Do I look ready to _die_?"

Shuuhei was stumped, but only until a thought occurred to him. "It's not any of us, is it?" he inquired warily.

"What?" Ichigo was stunned. "No!" he swiftly denied, his gaze raking over the males seated around the table, bypassing them all until his eyes inexplicably were drawn towards Kira. Nice, polite, and intelligent Izuru, who had offered once upon a time to carry his injured friend.

He felt himself flush to the tips of his ears, and he hastily looked away, trying to fight the blush from spreading further.

Renji, remarkably astute for once, noticed this immediately. "Izuru?" he spluttered with a cackle, almost choking on his sake.

The third division vice-captain was immediately indignant as he huffed. "And why not?"

Ichigo, failing to conceal his revealing blush, snarled. "Shut up, dumbass!" he snapped, chucking a few peanuts at Renji's head.

The other man laughed harder, nimbly ducking out of the way and nearly falling over. The substitute Shinigami looked away with a frustrated growl. Renji was such a bastard.

Then, a hand touched him lightly on the arm. His eyes widened, and he glanced over at the man next to him.

Kira was smiling gently. "Ignore the idiot," he urged, throwing Renji a furious glare before returning his attention to Ichigo, facing softening. "He is simply jealous."

The sixth division vice-captain choked on those words, causing Ikkaku, Shuuhei, and Iba to snicker to themselves. Yumichika, however, was quite pleased with himself for being all-knowing.

"Well, I'm happy with the change in events," he twittered, primping his hair in satisfaction.

Ichigo sighed and hated his burning cheeks. He swallowed thickly, raking a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, well…" he trailed off, clearing his throat noisily, uncertain where he was supposed to start in the whole dating guys thing. Especially since he had just found out he was gay.

He was completely oblivious to the bar fight beginning in the background between the other males, excluding Yumichika, who appeared to be goading them on for his own amusement.

Izuru smiled at him again, his blue eyes warm and open. "Do you like festivals, Kurosaki-kun?" he asked. "There's a celebration in the tenth district tomorrow, and I have the day off. Would you like to join me?"

The substitute Shinigami was stunned but managed a nod, unable to convince his tongue to move.

"It's a date then."

For the first time that night, Ichigo smiled.

* * *


	29. Just to Touch You

**Title: Just to Touch You  
Characters/Pairings: Byakuya/Renji  
Rating: M  
Warning: male/male kisses, a somewhat obsessed Byakuya, rampant OOC, the usual  
Words: 1, 564  
Description: It was distracting. It was taunting. It was daring Byakuya to cross the line.  
Dedicated to Larissa-chan who wanted a Byakuya/Renji with fluff and kissing. Ehh, I don't know if I managed the fluff part, but at least there's a kiss? I hope you like it.**

* * *

It was taunting him, staring at him with its vibrant color, sticking jauntily up from the crown of Renji's head. Byakuya was certain of it. He didn't know why his gaze was drawn to that color, almost the same as spilled blood but far more intense, far more alive. He was a man obsessed, a man completely overtaken by a color, brighter than the sun and equally intense.

It was distracting, diverting his attention away from important paper work, as if daring him to touch it, daring him to run his fingers through scarlet strands. It was like he was the bull and it, the red cloak, flapping wildly in a matador's hand. It made him think indecent thoughts about things he had never desired before. It made him want things he had never even considered. Most of all, it made him want _him,_ Renji. His vice-captain. A mutt from Rukongai.

For Byakuya, it had always been women, or truthfully, one woman. Yet, for once in his life, he wanted a man, and that was an emotion he didn't know how to handle. He buried it, of course, as was proper. Never let it be known that he couldn't keep his silly thoughts to himself. Still, it was there, simmering beneath the surface, constantly being taunted by crimson hair that he swore shifted colors from day to day. It couldn't have been natural, but Byakuya was in no way going to demand that his vice-captain drop his pants just to confirm it.

He didn't understand it. Why did Renji insist on wearing his hair that long? Why taunt his captain with things he couldn't have?

Byakuya wanted; he wanted so desperately that it battled against his better judgment, urging him to do things he shouldn't. He wanted to see Renji laid out beneath him, hair framing his face and eyes gleaming with lust. The contrast of black tattoos and vibrant, crimson shade, that small glare of defiance. It filled his own body with desire.

He wanted to reach out and yank, pull it from that high ponytail and watch it fall over Renji's shoulders. He wanted to drag Renji towards him, kissing his vice-captain until the man couldn't breathe, couldn't even stand, couldn't even speak any of the random chirping that Byakuya had learned to associate with the man. Byakuya wanted to possess that vibrant shade, alluring him like the flame did a moth.

He dreamed of running his hands through that hair, watching the strands slip through each one, falling from the tips of his fingers and floating briefly through the air before falling against Renji's back. He could still remember how Renji had looked that day, that battle, right after Byakuya had struck him and snapped the tie, his hair breaking free and fluttering around his body like a halo of blood. His eyes had been uncomfortably drawn to it.

Even then, he had wanted. Even then, he had craved.

It was a day like any other, none different except perhaps that this morning, his vice-captain had come running in late, slightly breathless and looking haggard. He had been out the night before, stayed up late, and woken up late. He couldn't find his tie, and so his hair was free, lying unbound and falling into his face. Byakuya had never seen a sight so fascinating, and it took all of his composure to remain forever unruffled, calmly chastising his subordinate for being tardy before handing over a stack of the usual paperwork.

In his mind, he could see himself, nuzzling into that ruby hair, pressing it to his mouth and feeling the silky softness against his lips. It was so _wrong_, but dear gods, the thoughts wouldn't leave his mind.

It wasn't until later, when they were walking to the first division for the weekly meeting that Byakuya lost his mind.

He couldn't help it. Renji was a few steps ahead of him, paying his captain little attention and idly keeping an eye out for one of his friends. He didn't realize that Byakuya was staring at his hair, watching as the sun played light across the fiery strands, turning it all variances of scarlet. Before he could stop himself, he had reached out and slid his fingers into those crimson locks, watching as they slipped through his fingers.

An unexpected feeling of calm and ease permeated his body then, and he sighed longingly, eyes sliding closed and head bowing in surrender.

Renji paused and turned. "Taichou?" he asked, quizzically, likely concerned for his superior's strange behavior.

Realizing what he had done, Byakuya's eyes snapped open, and he immediately jerked his hand back, feeling as if he had been scorched by fire. His fingers still tingled, but he was so shocked at his own actions that he had nothing to say, unable to even dredge up his Kuchiki pride and form a glare. He could still remember how the strands, as silky as he had thought, felt as they glided through his fingers.

Renji took a step closer, face filling with concern. "Taichou?"

For the first time in his life, Byakuya panicked and did the only thing a sane, normal person would do. He ran, as quickly and as far as his shunpo would take him and then even farther. It wasn't until he paused, struggling to draw in a deep breath, that he realized he had no clue where he was. Somewhere on the outskirts of Rukongai likely, judging by the abundant green of forestland that surrounded him.

Closing his eyes, Byakuya internally berated himself for being so foolish.

Of course, Murphy's Law had a way of evening things out. Seconds after he had appeared in the forest, Renji was right behind him. It would have been too easy for his vice-captain to simply continue on to the meeting and ignore the strange behavior of his captain. No, Renji just had to _care. _

"Taichou?" Renji said, concern etched into his face. He took a step forward.

Byakuya automatically took an unconscious step backwards before realizing what he had done. That flight instinct was rising again.

Renji seemed to sense it, however, and his hand snapped forward, almost like a serpent, latching onto Byakuya's arm firmly. "You sick?" he asked, convinced it was either that or his captain was possessed. "Or somethin' like that cause you're acting weird."

The sixth-division captain fell back into old habits, turning colder than ice. "Leave me alone, Renji," he ordered in a chill tone. "Return to the meeting at once."

Oddly enough, he didn't try to wrench his arm free from his vice-captain's hold like he should have. On his bare skin, Renji's touch was like fire.

Completely unconvinced, Renji's eyes narrowed. "You've been acting this way all week," he growled.

Byakuya had never heard a more arousing sound. His eyes were irrationally and inexplicably drawn to Renji's hair.

"It is your imagination," he muttered, though it came out less strong than he would have liked. It felt like a lie because it was a lie. He was betraying that part of him that wanted to grab his vice-captain and kiss him senseless.

It was all too rational for him to shove it down, far down where it belonged, buried deep inside. There was no room for this wrong and impossible feeling. It had to _disappear._

Renji didn't believe him for a moment. "Is it?" he asked before suddenly dipping his head and closing his lips over Byakuya's before the Kuchiki heir could even blink. His tongue shoved inside with little hesitation as he pulled on the arm he still held, dragging the other man one step nearer to him.

Byakuya fought it at first, giving a token struggle where he half-heartedly attempted to get away, and telling himself that Renji was just that much stronger than him, he resigned himself to his fate. Which was sealed when a moan, completely unbidden, filled his mouth, and he began return the kiss with equal if not more voracity.

His body took over as his mind completely fizzled out, and he reached up, finally, _finally_ tangling his fingers in those taunting bright strands and refusing to let go. He devoured Renji's mouth with a hungry, demanding kiss that was certain to leave them with bruised lips afterwards.

Dragging Renji forward put him off balance, and he stumbled, his back hitting the tree, nearly dwarfed by his vice-captain's bulk. Nevertheless, he was the one in control. He couldn't deny that he craved this kind of connection with another shinigami, the feel of warm flesh to warm flesh and the sound of another person's pleasure. That it was a man bothered him on some level, but not when his body seemed to consider otherwise, actively responding and encouraging him to go farther and deeper.

It was with great reluctance that he broke away from the kiss, feeling dazed and not quite himself. Renji was grinning like a damn idiot, and Byakuya felt a mild irritation. He knew he needed to say something. He should say something, but Renji looked as if he wanted to speak as well. Rather than listen to it, Byakuya kissed him again.

There were always opportunities to sort it out later. He promptly forgot about the meeting he was supposed to go to, losing himself in the addictive taste of his vice-captain.

Let them wonder.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and favorited me. I'm glad to see that people are enjoying these! There's plenty more to come!


	30. The Ties that Bind

**Title: The Ties that Bind  
Characters: Byakuya with mentions of Renji, Rukia, Ichigo  
Rating: T  
Warning: Implied Yaoi, Spoilers for the Soul Society Arc  
Words: 669  
Description: He often wondered why they don't hate him.**

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* * *

**

There was a time when Kuchiki Byakuya had not been sound of mind, when he had so carelessly thrown away everything that should have mattered to him for a promise that should not. It made him wonder why they didn't hate him for what he had done. Three different times, three different people, three different attempts to kill them.

Yet, there they stood, still by his side.

He wondered if this was what people talked about when they said such ridiculous things as blood being thicker than water. Like having friends who would never abandon him. It was unfathomable. It was beyond the comprehension of one who had always been treated with a sense of cold detachment from those who should have given him warm and welcoming arms.

He still remembered how Ichigo and Renji's blood looked when his own sword spilled it. In his mind, it was a clear moment, one from where he always felt there would be no return. He had rationalized it in his mind. He was convinced that as long as he kept his promise, it did not matter if he lost their respect or their… love.

At the time, it had taken the words of a human teenager, little more than a baby in the eyes of the long-lived Shinigami, to see the truth he had been blind to. Somewhere in the argument between duty and heart, he had forgotten the true meaning of both. He had sacrificed his own honor for a ridiculous vow that couldn't possibly have been kept.

Rules weren't created to be followed without second thought. He wasn't a mindless thing. Along the way, Byakuya had forgotten that, and it had taken Ichigo to remind him. Thinking back on it now, he owed the orange-haired teen for more than the boy could possibly every understand. He had almost lost his sister, someone he had promised himself to protect.

He had convinced himself that fighting Renji until his subordinate had nothing left within him to give was all for the sake of teaching him. But if that had been the case, then he wouldn't have left him bleeding on the ground, soul threatening to flicker out into oblivion. Renji had very nearly died, if not for the kindness of Unohana-taichou. And all because Byakuya couldn't admit to himself that perhaps he had been mistaken.

Ichigo had just been his duty. It was supposed to be his task to kill the boy, but at the last minute, he had balked at actually going through with the deed. Certainly, leaving him to bleed to death in the rain with his spiritual abilities shattered wasn't exactly altruistic, but something had stayed his hand in landing the final blow. It wasn't just Rukia's pleading either. It was something instinctual perhaps.

In the end, all three had forgiven him, though he couldn't fathom why. He expected an awkward tension, an uncertain reaction from each one of them. But Renji had only called him captain, and Rukia, brother. And now, Ichigo called him lover, though not in so many words.

He hadn't expected for it to be so easy to attain forgiveness. A part of him thought that he didn't deserve it. But he wasn't going to cast it aside either. He had made the mistake of throwing away too many things already.

If it were him, he would have hated the man who tried to kill him. He would have wanted to disregard him, place him completely beneath his notice. He really couldn't understand their mercy.

Maybe it had something to do with those imaginary bonds, the invisible threads that seemed to twist around and bind them together. Maybe it was because they were better men than he, or women in Rukia's case.

Either way, he had a lot to make up for now and a lot of catching up to do. It was time he tried living again.

Never mind the fact that he was technically dead. It was the principle of the matter.

* * *


	31. Fetch and Carry

**Title: Fetch and Carry  
****Characters: Yamamoto, Mentions of Others  
****Rating: T  
****Warnings: Spoilers for Soul Society Arc Words: 466**  
**Description: ****There were certain things that a captain-commander just **_**knew**_

* * *

As captain-commander, there were a few things that one picked up now and then. Little quirks and skills, bits of knowledge that were quite useful to the running of something as complicated and filled with idiots as the Gotei 13. And Yamamoto was well informed on many such facts, especially concerning his subordinates.

One example was Ichimaru Gin.

When the order from Central 46 came to retrieve Kuchiki Rukia from the living world, Yamamoto was well aware of the fact that it was the third division captain's turn to be sent down. Everything had an order, after all, and each division had to divide amongst themselves such unwanted duties.

Fair was fair.

However, the captain-commander knew better than to send Ichimaru anywhere for any reason on a fetch-and-carry mission. He never really knew what sort of state the item would come back in or what else would be brought back with it. Of course, that wasn't even saying that Ichimaru would retrieve the correct person in the first place, and the old man shuddered to think what he would do if the silver-haired captain randomly brought back some unfortunate soul instead of Kuchiki Rukia. Further, recalling the last time he had sent Ichimaru to retrieve something still sent shivers up the captain-commander's spine; it was that frightening. And he still hadn't been able to eat yakitori again, even a decade later.

Therefore, when the order placed itself on his desk, not only to fetch but also to deal with the human _child_ who had stolen her powers, Yamamoto instantly hesitated. He racked his mind for someone, _anyone_, else to send who wouldn't raise a fuss. He first considered Aizen Sousuke. But unwilling to take advantage of the man's good nature, especially considering that he knew Sousuke-kun would _offer_, had him rethinking it. There was always Jyuushiro or Shunsui, but the first was currently ill, and the latter would most likely drink himself into a coma if he went anywhere near the living realm or its vaunted liquor stores.

In the end, and thanks to the careful suggestions of Central 46, Yamamoto settled for sending the sixth division. Kuchiki Byakuya was far too refined, noble, and set on following the rules to even protest a direct order. The fact that he was her older brother was also a plus. Best to leave things to family sometimes, especially when young shinigami weren't aware of their mistakes. Not to mention that Abarai-fukutaichou had some connection to the girl and had been antsy-ready to wander down to the living world.

With that in mind, Yamamoto had sent the order out, reminding himself that next time, _next time_, Ichimaru would get his due.

Well… so long as he didn't have to rely on the constantly smiling man to retrieve anything.

* * *


	32. The Things He's Carried

Title: The Things He's Carried  
Pairings/Characters: Chad/Ishida, Mentions of Others  
Warnings: Vague Spoilers, Fluff, Kissing  
Rating: T  
Words: 804  
Description: There was a reason his arms were strong.

* * *

The first attribute people usually notice about him is his size. Chad admits that he is rather large for his age and, according to some, damn near indestructible. He has a strong body and a strong arm, one of which he has already pledged to Ichigo. And he plans on making it remain that way. 

Still, he has a pair of arms, and Chad can't blame others when they automatically link him with the description "person who carries stuff." He has two arms, after all.

It is the truth that he has spent a lifetime hauling random things from one end to the other. He doesn't mind it so much anymore. He merely accepts his lot in his life as he accepts everything else with a sort of calm that many around him don't seem to hold. Someone has to stay rational.

Thinking back on it now, Chad realizes that his arms have carried some pretty bizarre things… and people, for that matter.

Urahara-san's purchases and items are always the heaviest. And strangest as well. Chad never tries to look at them too closely for fear of things he doesn't understand. It's probably for the best. Sometimes, the former Shinigami's _candy_ isn't really candy at all.

Ichigo has always been the bloodiest person he's carried. It always makes Chad feel guilty in some way, carrying the broken body of his closest friend. It reminds him that his strength still isn't enough and that he needs to train harder if he wants to keep his position guarding Ichigo's back.

Nova is the lightest of Chad's burdens and the easiest to get along with. The modified soul's quiet acceptance is much like Chad's own, and their silence can speak more words most people ever say aloud. Chad feels as if he has found a kindred spirit. He doesn't mind carrying Nova so much.

He remembers the guitar he used to carry on his back. It is the most unwieldy of his items, always swaying back and forth, weight shifting constantly. A part of him is glad that he finally decides to permanently leave it in his room, despite how much he enjoys playing. Anything that might hold him back in a battle is unnecessary at this point.

He thinks of Shibata, the boy who was once parrot and is now a boy again. He remembers carrying him, protecting him. Chad thinks that perhaps Shibata was the most dangerous of his burdens. But he also knows he wouldn't take back his choice to do so either. Shibata had been a reminder that his strength is good for something, to defend and not destroy. Sometimes, he needs that most of all.

He has carried Orihime a few times. She always smiles at him and thanks him kindly. She is the one who heals his wounds and laughs. She's even offered to cook for him out of gratitude, but he politely turns her down each time. Not even he is that courageous.

Once or twice, he has even lifted Ichigo's zanpakutou, feeling the shock of power in his fist. It is enough to make his knees shake, enough to open his eyes to the vast differences between the limit of his strength and the nonexistent one of his best friend.

It reminds him that he wants to close the gap, even if it keeps on widening beyond his reach. And yet, in some roundabout way, it also reminds him that even the strongest have weaknesses and someone has to be there to watch Ichigo's back. He is determined for that someone to always be him.

Still, out of all the things that he has burdened himself with, Chad is pretty sure that he enjoys carrying Ishida Uryuu the most. Time and time again, from one situation to another, somehow the Quincy keeps finding his way into Chad's arms. Not that he minds so much.

He always blushes and flails, making a general spectacle of himself simply for the sake of the indignity… or so he claims. Ishida protests loudly and tries to look offended, but Chad constantly notices that he never really tries to get away. And Chad admits that a part of him takes great satisfaction in how well Ishida fits in his arms.

He thinks that Ishida doesn't mind it so much either. And when he leans down and shuts the Quincy up by kissing him, he really believes it. A hand coils in his shirt, fingers clenching onto the fabric. And even the useless flailing stops.

While Chad knows eventually his arms are going to carry other things, some strange items that he knows he won't want to look at, he also knows that inevitably Ishida will end up in them again.

And he'll take full advantage every time.

Somehow, he doesn't think Uryuu will mind.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reads! I'm happy to say that there are plenty to come! 


	33. The Manliest Man

**Title: The Manliest Man  
Characters: The Shinigami Women's Association, Byakuya  
Rating: T  
Words: 1773  
Warning: Slight OOC  
Description: Of all the men in Seireitei, who is the manliest one of all? Takes place before Soul Society Arc. **

* * *

Three sharp raps against the table with her pointy-stick, and Ise Nanao swiftly called the meeting to order. Several pairs of eyes turned towards her.

"Ne, Librarian-chan, what're we talking about today?" Yachiru piped up, grin wide and cheeks pink as usual.

Nanao regarded her with patience, something she found sorely lacking lately but still managed to dredge up. "Madame President, as you surely know and decided_last week_, we are here to vote."

Kurotsuchi Nemu, meek and quiet, lifted her hand and looked just this side of confused. "Vote?" she repeated in a quizzical tone so softly that Nanao almost didn't catch it.

Adjusting her glasses and noting the confusion of all the rest of the Shinigami Women's Association, Nanao decided it was probably best if she explained. Lately, it seemed she was the only one who actually listened to Yachiru. This didn't say much about her sanity.

"It is the time of year when we run yet another of our contests," Nanao explained in her no-nonsense tone, pretty certain that this was the third or fourth time she had done so in one form or another. "It was decided this year that we would vote on the manliest man."

"It's Ken-chan!" Yachiru chirped, leaning forward eagerly in her chair. "S'why I suggested it."

"Yes, well, your opinion is slightly biased, fukutaichou," Nanao reminded her.

"I don't know," Isane replied, tilting her head to the side and thinking deeply. "Zaraki-taichou is pretty manly. I mean, at least, he's never been mistaken for a woman."

Kiyone looked offended, glaring at her sister. "It was the one time!" she argued, thinking of her dearly beloved captain. "And he was having a great hair day."

"Ukitake-taichou always has great hair days," Nanao said with a sigh, thinking of her own prim coif. "Besides, Zaraki-taichou styles his hair."

Yachiru pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. "I still say Ken-chan," she said before suddenly brightening. "Or how about Byakushi?" Her grin stretched wider. "Yeah! Byakushi is super manly."

At the other end of the table, convinced that they had forgotten his presence like they always did, Byakuya straightened with pride. Yes, he was very, very manly. He was rather proud that Yachiru had thought of him. Perhaps he was making an impression, after all. And if he received the vote then that would put all of those ugly rumors to rest. He would finally achieve the respect and admiration and--

"Kuchiki-taichou is far too pretty," Isane interjected with a logical tone, as if she truly _had_ forgotten that said captain was present. "Not to mention his bankai is flowers. That does not say manly to me."

Byakuya immediately deflated, trying and failing to look affronted. She had a point, dammit. If he wasn't already used to hearing such things, he might have been offended. As it were, he could only sit back, sigh, and half-consider cutting off his hair.

"In that case, we can easily dismiss Kira-fukutaichou and Ayasegawa-san," Nanao remarked thoughtfully, making a notation on the small board set up at the front of the room. Then, in hindsight, she started listing all of the male Shinigami up for consideration, crossing off a few others that fit the "too-pretty" disqualification.

Rangiku, who for once had finally managed to make a meeting, slouched in her chair, surreptitiously but not really slurping from her sake jug. "Ne, Komamura-taichou's not really a man," she said with a burp. "And for the love of sake, just cross Kurotsuchi-taichou off now." She gave a non-subtle shudder.

It was echoed in the eyes of the other women and Byakuya, but for Nemu's sake, they kept their comments to a minimum. She didn't seem too annoyed, but one could never really tell sometimes. Besides, it was up to _Rangiku_to say the rude things, not the other, more polite members of the group.

Nanao nodded in agreement. No one seemed fit to argue with Rangiku's suggestions. With those two names crossed off, the board was still too full. She stood back and perused the many names, marker pen clutched firmly in her fingers.

Kiyone twitched, still annoyed at her captain being removed, when a thought occurred to her. "Aizen-taichou hides his prettiness behind the dorky glasses," she said, cutting her eyes at Momo. And for Rangiku's sake she added, "And Hitsugaya-taichou's just a kid; we can't count him either."

Momo sniffed, eyes watering. "Aizen-taichou is _manly_," she argued, sounding very much like she was in a little child once again. "And smart. And strong. And--"

"--perfect, we know," chorused the entire Association, Byakuya included.

It was an argument they had heard many times before.

Pouting, Momo blinked and crossed her arms over her chest, sniffing quite unattractively. "Yeah, well, Yamamoto-soutaichou is too old," she stated haughtily, as if that would personally offend anyone present. "He's like a grandman not a man."

"Besides, when he was younger, he was girly-looking," Unohana Retsu added softly, thinking of his pictures in the archive. He actually resembled Kuchiki-taichou, but she wasn't going to say that out loud.

Shrugging, Nanao whipped out her marker and crossed a few more names off the list. Thinking deeply, if they were going by great hair, then she went ahead and marked out Abarai-fukutaichou and Tousen-taichou, who went so far as putting _braids _in his hair. If that wasn't vain, she didn't know what was.

"I think that strength should be a factor," Byakuya suggested logically, well aware that him actively taking part in this Association was not adding to his manliness factor. He couldn't help that Rukia was often gone during the meeting times, though he secretly suspected she planned it that way because it amused her.

Yachiru tilted her head to the side, visibly restraining herself from launching across the table to glomp her second-favorite captain. "Whatcha mean, Byakushi?"

He twitched at the nickname. "That perhaps the 'manliest man', as it has been so elegantly put, should be someone with some power. Certainly, no one below a third-seat, or dare I say it, a vice-captain."

The perky girl scrunched up her nose before beaming brightly. "Okay!" Yachiru agreed and waved her hands at Nanao. "Mark off anyone that ain't that. Kay, Librarian-san?"

The marker scratched across the board, leaving them with very few names left.

Briefly perusing them, Soi-fon resisted the urge to scrunch up her nose in disgust. "Omaeda might not be girly, but he's disgusting," she said with a snort. "And Ikkaku wears make-up on his eyes."

"Sasekibe-fukutaichou styles his mustache when he thinks no one is looking," Nemu suggested, trying her best to recall any other records the twelfth division had on those remaining on the board. "Plus, he is rather old."

Rangiku sighed and shook her nearly empty sake jug mournfully. There just wasn't enough to get her through the rest of the meeting.

"Iba secretly primps his hair," she said boredly. "He keeps a comb in his back pocket, and I've seen him use Ikkaku's head as a mirror. And he's an idiot."

"This isn't an intelligence contest," Nanao reminded her sternly but obediently crossed those named anyways. She didn't want to be there all night either. "What about Ichimaru-taichou?"

The Association considered it. And thought about it. And shifted in their seats as the clock ticked on.

"Well, he _is_ strong," Isane suggested tentatively.

Rangiku snorted. "He looks like a puff of wind could knock him over, Isane."

"Yeah, but… that doesn't make him girly," the fourth division vice-captain argued back indignantly.

Yachiru dug a finger in her ear, beginning to grow bored. "We'll come back to him. What 'bout the others?"

"Do we even need to wonder about Kyouraku-taichou?" Kiyone pointed out. If her captain wasn't going to win, then neither was Nanao's. "The man wears_pink_. And he is _obsessed_ with flowers."

Unfortunately for Kiyone, Nanao was not the least bit perturbed that her captain wasn't manly enough. In fact, if he turned out to be gay, she would be perfectly all right with that. She even prayed for it from time to time, thinking that maybe then his attention would be diverted from her.

"You're right, Kiyone," she agreed, crossing out Shunsui's name as firmly as she could. No need to let the man's ego get any larger, after all.

She regarded the two remaining names with indecision.

"Hisagi-fukutaichou seems to fit all of your qualifications," Byakuya inserted with a bit of jealousy. "He is relatively strong and does not appear girly."

Yachiru bounced in her seat excitedly. "Scar-face has tattoos, too! He's like… super manly." She seemed to have forgotten about her earlier endeavor to promote her own captain.

"Very well." Nanao adjusted her glasses, raking her gaze over the group. "Can anyone think of a reason to disqualify Hisagi-san?"

At that, Isane and Retsu, who had been mostly silent up until that moment, exchanged knowing glances, a bit of a smirk in the vice-captain's expression. Nanao noticed this immediately, growing incredibly interested.

"What?"

Isane smiled sheepishly, but it was her captain who responded, "Hisagi-san is a very good knitter," Retsu replied kindly, thinking fondly of the time she had found him knitting a sweater at Abarai-san's bedside when the other male was recovering from a rough training session. "His scarves are beautiful," she added, thinking of the collection she had tucked away in her wardrobe, gifts of gratitude the vice-captain had made just for her.

There was a moment of silence before the majority of the Association broke out into laughter, surprised by this unusual turn of events. Even Byakuya managed a chuckle or two at the thought of badass Hisagi Shuuhei knitting a scarf like some old biddy.

Nanao covered her face with her hand, and to anyone else it might have seemed she was annoyed. Truthfully, she was surreptitiously wiping away tears of restrained laughter. When she finally regained control of herself, it was with the realization that they had but one candidate left. And it was the last person that she would have expected.

"I suppose that makes Ichimaru-taichou the winner," she commented, circling his name and putting two stars to either side of it once the laughter died down.

Dead silence circled around the Women's Association broken only by Yachiru's giggling. "Wait til we tell him!" she said, nodding enthusiastically. "And everyone else, too! This was a great idea!"

Needless to say, it was with great pleasure that Yachiru forced Nanao and Rangiku to tack up the poster proclaiming Ichimaru Gin's victory right in the middle of central headquarters where everyone and their brother, sister, cousin, and dog could see it.

-----


	34. Mating Rituals

**Title: Mating Rituals  
Pairings/Characters: Kurotsuchi Nemu, Ichigo/Byakuya/Ichigo, Mentions of Mayuri and others  
Rating: M  
Words: 2,117  
Warning: Yaoi, Scientific Language, Insanity  
Description: Observe the rare Kuchiki heir as he stalks his prey. Part of the "Never Been Kissed" series. (Which also includes The Night They Burned Seireitei Down) **

As instructed by Mayuri-sama, I, Kurotsuchi Nemu, have taken on the scientific task of observing Kurosaki Ichigo with the purpose of determining the source of his remarkable talents and ability to completely override the traditional learning curve. I shall do my best to dictate each situation from the side of an observer with no bias intended.

--Day One--

Subject's residence seems to be of typical size for the average Japanese household. The father, who shows a complete lack of all mental faculties, is a physician at the clinic adjoining their domicile. Both of the subject's siblings display a small aptitude in sensing the spirit world, most notably within the dark-haired female. The father does not appear to hold any ability but still seems aware of his male progeny's Shinigami related activities. Further, he displays increasingly odd behavior, glancing around surreptitiously when he is alone and acting almost as if he realizes he is being observed.

Morning does not appear to suit our subject. He is quite cantankerous, and there is a strange ritual between father and son consisting of the exchange of multiple violent blows. The observer wonders if this is an everyday occurrence or some type of training technique. Son is reluctant but quick to retaliate.

--Day Three--

Subject's place of learning is a large establishment with a multitude of humans milling about the premises. Classes are divided into sections, and subject appears to have many associates who seem quite delighted at his presence. One such male demonstrates an extravagant display of emotion that the subject easily sidesteps and promptly disregards. This behavior is mildly amusing.

Subject doesn't appear to display any sexual interest or preference towards the females in his class. According to the observer's research, this is unusual for his age and development. Further, she still has detected no signs of stimuli to explain the abnormal reiatsu level of the subject.

More observation is necessary.

--Day Eight--

Subject wastes several hours arguing heatedly with Kuchiki-san before he is dragged to an abandoned field beyond the outskirts of the main town. The content of this argument seems to revolve around the subject's sexuality and what Kuchiki-san believes to be the "cure for his loneliness." The observer does not believe loneliness is an affliction deserving of a medical remedy.

In any case, the observer has followed the subject to his current location, where he appears to be watching Kuchiki-taichou defeat a low-class Hollow. The observer is not aware that the sixth division captain had been assigned duty in Karakura. To her surprise, moments after the Hollow was cleansed, the subject and Kuchiki-taichou have an interaction. She is astonished to watch the two males exchange a press of the lips – a kiss. There is a moment's pause, an exchange of words, and then, the two males kiss once more. It is an interesting development that requires additional study.

The observer will contact supervisor for further instruction.

--Day Thirty-Five--

In concordance with Mayuri-sama's order, context of this study has been expanded to include observation of the subject's relationship with Kuchiki-taichou, heretofore known as Subject B. Kurosaki-san shall be referred to as Subject A.

After several weeks of increasing lust and close encounters, Subjects A and B have given in to their primal urges to copulate. From the observer's position, it is clear all pretense of maintaining chastity has been discarded. To her surprise, there is tenderness in the awkward yet determined movements.

The observer's attention is diverted with the sudden appearance of Matsumoto-fukutaichou, Zaraki-taichou, and Shihouin-sama, all of whom seem to be deep into intoxicated revelry. After a moment's examination, the observer witnesses the aforementioned captain attempt a kidoh spell, despite her knowledge that Zaraki-taichou has never attempted such a thing previously. The spell exceeds expectations and proceeds to set fire to the Kuchiki manor, after which the delinquents make themselves scarce.

Subjects A and B are only momentarily distracted; Subject A is diverted from a kiss to question Subject B. The observer makes careful note of the endearments exchanged as both subjects realize that their abode is ablaze and consequently dive for safety through an open window. The observer takes the opportunity to slip quietly away as the commotion has caused the arrival of multiple Shinigami, most notably Hitsugaya-taichou and Ukitake-taichou.

--Day Thirty-Seven--

The subjects are meeting surreptitiously for a brief meal and a recitation of poetry from the living world in a secluded area near the Soukyoku hill. The observer is surprised at Subject A's choice of literature, resolving to return to the laboratory and conduct research on one "William Shakespeare" for better understanding of his behavior.

Subject B seems to appreciate the flowery prose, and both are seen intertwining their extremities – holding hands as it were. Further, the observer witnesses them engage in several pre-mating behaviors, such as kissing and light petting of the flanks, back, and neck both over and under clothing. After almost an hour, the pair finally finish their meal. However, before departing, both share a lingering embrace, and Subject B presses their foreheads together during the exchange, also rubbing noses.

Such demonstrative behavior is unexpected, and the observer hypothesizes that is merely due to the fact that they have yet to copulate and are attempting to maintain physical interest and intimacy.

--Day Forty--

Despite the failed prior endeavor at consummating their affections, the subjects proceed to attempt copulation once more. Interestingly, the observer finds Subject A taking the dominant role. He appears to be soothing Subject B's skittish reactions with affectionate touches as Subject B assumes the lordosis posture, something most suitable for this type of mating ritual.

Once Subject B has relaxed, Subject A proceeds with mounting behavior. The observer refrains from making a detailed analysis of the process on paper, preferring to refer to the video footage when later making her report to her supervisor.

Post-coital, Subject A slips into aftercare mode where he cleanses his mate of all traces of their copulation. After disposing of the soiled cloth, he returns to the bed, and both subjects proceed with "cuddling" and additional kissing. Sometime later, the pair drifts off to sleep but only after verbally reaffirming their affections.

The observer finds this incredibly fascinating and is eager to see what Mayuri-sama makes of it.

--Day Fifty-One--

Subject B appears to enjoy stalking his prey. He walks past Subject A as if he cannot see him, but a brief brush of shoulders appears to imply some sort of communication. Perhaps pheromones are involved, cueing certain responses in each of the subjects. The observer suspects testosterone plays a large role as well, but more analysis is necessary for confirmation.

Careful observation discovers the two subjects meeting, not by chance, in a small storage closet. It is the not the first time the observer has witnessed such strange locations for copulation. For example, Subject B's office, the bedroom of Subject B's sister, and the kitchen are all seemingly prime areas for any and all mating behaviors. Additionally, with the partial destruction of Subject B's domicile, both have been invited to momentarily lodge with Ukitake-taichou. This has not appeared to have had any effect on curbing their sexual relations.

It should also be noted that the subjects "switch roles" in terms of dominance, and both have been observed as the recipient partner during copulation. Mayuri-sama has found such behavior of particular interest and has encouraged further inquest of it.

--Day Sixty-Four--

The subjects seem to enjoy engaging in quasi-aggressive behavior as an addendum to or possible cover for their affections, and they frequently practice their skills against one another, sparring at least once a day whenever Subject A is in Seireitei. Most often, these fights revolve around shunpo and zanjutsu, despite Subject B's considerable knowledge of kidoh. Very rarely is hakuda involved, though only Subject A ever includes such tactics. The observer has noticed that this particular behavior seems to be a prelude to mating. Indeed, copulation, or heavy petting and kissing at the very least, often occurs afterwards once the pair has managed to reach a more private setting.

Their current spar seems to be following these trends. So far, Subject B has yet to even release his shikai, and the two are engaged in a contest of strength, their respective zanpakutou locked. Further, the pair are pressed together, faces mere centimeters apart. Abarai-fukutaichou watches them from the sidelines with a peculiar expression as the subjects quietly exchange words over their blades and press even closer together. He seems to be confused, acting as though he has yet to realize the significance of their actions.

The observer has noticed on numerous occasions that the vice-captain is rather slow on the uptake, and it is entirely possible that he is completely ignorant of the clandestine affair occurring between his superior and Subject A. Mayuri-sama concurs with the assessment of Abarai-fukutaichou's mental faculties, also stating that it is quite likely no one else has discovered the true relationship of the subjects.

--Day Seventy-Five--

As the weeks have progressed, Subject B continues to show increasing possessiveness, and he has taken to cautiously watching or even chasing off all those he deems a sexual rival or possible physical threat to his mate. The observer notes that several individuals are exempt from such behaviors, most notably Subject B's sister and Ukitake-taichou, as well as Sado-san.

Hitsugaya-taichou is apparently too young to be viewed as a threat, but most of the other captains and vice-captains merit intense scrutiny or even outright, if subtle, hostility. This tendency is especially apparent whenever Zaraki-taichou and Kyouraku-taichou are present. Abarai-fukutaichou, on the other hand, merely rates a cautious but vague sort of surveillance as does most of the eleventh division and Subject A's Quincy companion, Ishida-san. Inone-san and Shihouin-sama, in particular, garner a fierce reaction and are routinely driven away, oftentimes with Subject B displaying increasingly intimidating facial expressions.

Such predator-esque vigilance is not uncommon in persons with Subject B's personality type or males in general, and Mayuri-sama finds such possessiveness and the actions stemming from it to be faintly amusing.

--Day Eighty-Two--

The pair has traveled to Karakura for the day to engage in what Subject A has dubbed "meet the parents." Thus far, they are standing outside of the aforementioned male's residence, arguing too quietly for the observer to hear. However, it is rather obvious that Subject B insists on entering, while his counterpart seems strongly reluctant. Their discussion comes to a decisive end when Subject A's father flings open the door and immediately embraces his offspring, loudly chirping his delight. He falters, however, when he notices Subject B.

The observer notes that Subject B appears to completely stiffen at the sight of his mate's father. The reaction seems to be reciprocal as Subject A's parental unit lifts his eyebrows in return, still embracing his son tightly. In the meantime, Subject A gasps for leniency, but neither of the other males appears to notice.

Subject A's father shifts his gaze and looks past both of the Shinigami, appearing to stare directly in the observer's direction. Almost immediately the father hurriedly rushes them within the household, closing the door with a firm slam. For a moment, the observer wonders if perhaps the father is not as imperceptive as he appears. She will ask Mayuri-sama for his hypothesis on the matter at a later time.

As she is unable to get within the domicile at this present moment, the observer concludes her study of the two subjects for the day to resume at a later time.

--Day Ninety--

The Kuchiki manor is completely rebuilt and repaired from the "accidental" burning that had taken place earlier in the year. However, instead of taking full advantage of the perfect secrecy to indulge their passions, the observer notes that instead, they indulge in quiet companionship.

After sharing a brief dinner with Subject B's sister, the subjects retire to their shared chambers. The observer notes that this is the first instance in which they have spent the night in Subject B's own bed. To her surprise, they engage in lingering affections and soft phrases of endearment before falling asleep, refraining from their usual mating rituals.

--Closing Remarks--

In concordance with Mayuri-sama's instructions, I have ended my observations. I hereby swear that all information dictated within this study is accurate to the extent of my knowledge, and as unbiased as I am capable of reporting. It is my hope that the results gathered will prove useful in the study of future anomalies concerning Subject A as well as the mating habits of Shinigami.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated! 


	35. Not the Kittens!

**Title: Not the Kittens!  
Pairings/Characters: Iba, Yoruichi, Renji, Urahara  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Bad sexual humor, OOC  
Words: 948  
Description: Iba learns life's lessons from the master… Urahara Kisuke.  
A/N: I'm sorry but it had to be done! The idea was too good to pass up!**

* * *

Iba, for the record, had a secret love for furry things great and small. He simply wibbled every time he saw a cute creature and had to resist the urge to pet. Sometimes, they carried dangerous things like rabies. But still, the desire was there. Please, disregard the fact that his captain was a rather large, fuzzy creature for the moment and concentrate on the tale at hand.

Anyway, as a result, he absolutely adored cute animals, though he would never admit it aloud. Especially puppies and kittens, though the occasional hamster did sneak its way into his adoration.

However, none of that knowledge was important to the current story. The fact that Iba was venturing down to Karakura, seeking out his old buddy Renji had absolutely nothing to do with kittens or fuzzies or anything of the like. Nope, not one bit.

Truthfully, Komamura had decided that it was time his vice-captain took a mini-vacation and had given him a few days off. With all of his friends pretty much down in Karakura, Iba thought he might as well venture there himself. Renji was the easiest to locate since he was at Urahara's shop, and so Iba set his course for there.

Except, he had forgotten that in their undercover work, they were required to go to school. Iba pitied the poor bastard. But that meant he would have to wait for Renji to get back. It didn't seem so bad, especially since Urahara-san was polite enough to offer him some sake and cookies while he waited. And they said that manners were non-existent on Karakura.

It would have been a nice, relaxing time if it weren't for the fact that he was being watched – scrutinized, rather – by Urahara's strange guest and the candy shop owner himself. It was kind of disconcerting to be observed beneath that striped hat and behind a constantly wagging fan. And Yoruichi watched him as if he were something to be eaten, a sinister grin pulling at her lips.

Without knowing why, Iba felt afraid. Very, very afraid.

---

Renji sighed as he walked through the front door of the Urahara Shop, his head aching. He really hated school and didn't understand how Ichigo could not only suffer through it but score so high as well.

"Tadaima," he called out tiredly, knowing that Urahara probably had a stack of chores he wanted Reni to do. Yet, another something to add to his already craptacular day.

Closing his eyes unenthusiastically, Renji swept a hand over his hair as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps across the wooden floor. He expected it to be Jinta with another scathing remark about him being a freeloader. He was not prepared to be grabbed by the front of his shirt and shaken ruthlessly. Red eyes shot open as words were blasted in his face in a very familiar tone.

"How many have ya killed?" Iba was demanding of him, sounding very, very insane. "How many, in your lust, have ya slaughtered?"

Renji blinked, his head snapping back and forth on his shoulders. "What the fuck?" he spluttered, raising his hands to try and remove Iba's grip. "Tetsuzaemon?"

His old friend was looking desperate now, glasses half-cocked on his face as he shook Renji even harder, practically ripping his shirt. "How many, Renji? How many?"

The sixth division vice-captain continued to be flabbergasted. His brain simply couldn't wrap around this strange turn of events.

Iba seemed to break down in that moment, sobs wracking his frame as he sank downwards, still clutching onto Reni's shoulders. "Not the kittens," he murmured mournfully. "Anything but the kittens."

At a loss for words, Renji was distracted by the sound of two people snickering like hell in the background. He lifted his eyes and found both Urahara-san and Shihouin-san laughing their asses off, practically rolling around on the floor. He lifted his brows, feeling his head beginning to ache.

"What did ya to do 'im?" he asked, bewildered.

They chuckled all the harder, Urahara's reddened face hidden by his fan. Iba continued to sob, now nothing more than a mass of pitiful Shinigami robes on the floor.

Yoruichi snickered, trying to control her breathing, but all that came out was laughing gasps. "He believed us," she shrieked, wiping at her eyes.

Meanwhile, Renji grabbed his friend's shoulders. "Get a hold of yourself, man!" he roared, beginning to grow a bit disturbed. There was just something wrong with the whole picture, especially of big and tough Iba acting like this.

"Gone, gone," Iba sobbed. "I've killed them all."

Renji remained confounded.

---

"So you see, Iba-kun," Urahara stated in his most serious voice, trying to rein in his chortles. "This is a severe matter."

The seventh division vice-captain was aghast. "B--but… how?"

Yoruichi nodded determinedly at her friend's side. "It's true. Every time you touch yourself… a kitten dies. It's the work of angels, they say."

"A proven, documented fact," Urahara added in wisely, now hiding behind his fan. He didn't think he could say anymore with a straight face.

Iba's eyes widened, though it was impossible to see behind his sunglasses, and he wibbled. "No," the man breathed, his mind automatically turning to his own foul misdeeds. "It can't be…"

"Tadaima!" A voice announced from seemingly far away.

Tetsuzaemon's head jerked up. "Renji," he muttered under his breath. His friend was even hornier than he was.

Iba gasped again. Oh no!

Within seconds, the vice-captain was on his feet and taking off down the hallway. Left behind, Urahara and Yourichi dissolved into helpless titters.

"Too easy," the Shihouin heir wheezed.

Urahara could only nod in agreement.

-----


	36. Rukia's Dating Service Kira

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Kira Izuru  
Characters: Ichigo, Izuru, Rukia  
Rating: T  
Warning: Hinted Yaoi, Slight OOC  
Words: 1,225  
Description:****Cute, sane, and quiet. What wasn't there to love?**

* * *

Rukia was disappointed. Rather than greeting an enthusiastic or at least somewhat smiling, Ichigo as he returned home from his date with Izuru, she found herself facing a teenager that looked haggard and disappointed. Propping her hands on her hips, she regarded him with her firmest stare.

"Well?" Rukia demanded impatiently, wondering what in the hell had happened this time. "How did it go?"

He slipped out of his shoes and closed the door behind him. "It was good," he answered tiredly then paused, reconsidering his words. "Until I made him cry."

Her eyes nearly burst out of her head in shock. "What did you do?" she shrieked, resisting the urge to tear her hair out in despair.

And here, she had thought it would be _perfect_. The two of them fit so well together.

It had been hard enough getting Ichigo to go on the damn date, and then, he had to be an idiot and make Izuru _cry_? What kind of moron was he? Did he want to remain alone for the rest of his life?

She thought long and hard about the manipulation it had taken to even make him go.

_Ichigo scowled. "No," he said, as if that were the final answer. _

_Not one to be easily dissuaded, Rukia squared her jaw. "Have you forgotten my success?" she demanded, gesturing broadly to the far corner and the slurping that could easily be heard. "See how happy your father is?" _

_His eyebrow twitched, and he studiously kept his eyes in the opposite direction. "I try not to," Ichigo muttered, hunching over and turning away from the disgusting spectacle his father and his father's… _person_ were making of themselves. _

_A really loud chirp of Urahara chose that moment to burble up behind him. _

_Ichigo flinched. "Besides, that wasn't intentional," he added, reaching for his headphones to turn them up another dozen notches._

"_Psh." Rukia waved her hand dismissively before a devious thought entered her mind. She simultaneously sprouted devil horns and grinned mischievously. "It's with Kiiiiira-san." _

_He perked slightly, one hand reaching up to slide a single earphone away from his ear, rock music blaring from the tiny speaker. Which stood to question just how he heard her statement in the first place. _

"_For real this time?" the boy asked suspiciously. _

_Rukia nodded enthusiastically, inwardly thinking '_hook, line and sinker'

"_Cross my heart," she gushed, something she had learned from Yuzu. A saccharine grin accompanied it. _

_Still skeptical, Ichigo nodded and snapped his headphone over his ear. "Fine." _

_Resisting the urge to dance a pleased jig, Rukia struck a victory pose. _

_That was way too easy._

Ichigo sighed in annoyance, dragging her back to the present, and turned to glare at her. "I said he had pretty eyes," he snapped, a bit perturbed with her constant pestering. "Now, can you please stop the matchmaking?"

Rukia gaped. "Come again?" she asked, moving to follow him as he headed into the kitchen and started scrounging around for something to eat, despite the fact he had just come from a restaurant.

Her very dear best friend gave her a look that could have curdled milk as he stuck his head in the fridge and proceeded to tell her the story.

_They had chosen to go to a nice restaurant, something in the first district of Rukongai that Izuru had picked out. Ichigo wasn't really paying attention to the quality of the food. His date looked really cute, the soft blue of his kimono bringing out his eyes. Not to mention there was literally no awkwardness and conversation flowed easily. Yes, it seemed that everything was going to be just perfect and a small – very small, mind you – part of Ichigo was thanking Rukia. _

_But only a little. _

_Across the table, Izuru smiled, though it was a small gesture and kind of wobbly. Still, it was nice, and Ichigo thought that he should probably retaliate with something. And considering that he was on a date, a compliment was probably a good idea. _

"_You should do that more often," he sort of mumbled without meaning to make it so quiet. "It's nice." _

_Izuru brightened just a tad._

_Success._

_Encouraged by this, Ichigo went further and decided to try something else. "You have really pretty eyes, too." _

_Crash and buuuuurn. _

_First, the lower lip quivered, and those beautiful eyes glistened. Ichigo began to get a really, really bad feeling. His spirits sank when Izuru's fingers spasmed around his chopsticks, and he set them on his plate, looking down at the table disconsolately. His eyes watered. _

"_T-taichou used to say that…" Izuru sniffled and abruptly bawled, tears trickling down his face. _

_Ichigo stared in stunned bewilderment, mouth agape as his own ideas of the perfect date collapsed around his ears. He felt it then, the many eyes boring into the back of his skull as the vice-captain wept in front of him. The other patrons of the restaurant were glaring disapprovingly and all Ichigo felt a little bit like crying himself. _

"It was embarrassing," Ichigo remarked, feeling a blush staining his cheeks as he leaned his head against a milk bottle for the hell of it. "People thought I was abusing him or something. Che. The waiter brought us our check without me even asking."

He had felt awful and pretty useless as well. Izuru was crying, and he sat there uncomfortably, not knowing in the faintest how to comfort him.

Rukia sighed. Perhaps it was a bit too early for Kira to date. Or at least, date someone who was as inept at handling distraught people as Ichigo, she supposed. And she had thought it would work out that time, too. They seemed so perfectly matched.

She threw her hands into the air. "Better luck next time," Rukia announced before turning on her heel and walking out of the room, already plotting in her mind just who she could con into the next date. Preferably someone just as calm as Kira but more emotionally solid. And maturity was a must.

An evil smirk took over Rukia's face. She had the perfect man in mind.

Back in the kitchen, Ichigo sighed and grabbed a container of leftovers of questionable edibility. Popping them into the microwave, he leaned against the counter and considered his most recent disaster of a date. As the appliance hummed and clattered behind him, he realized that it hadn't been a complete loss. Without his consent, his hand reached up and brushed his cheek in remembrance.

Nope, not a complete loss at all.

_Outside the door to Izuru's quarters, the vice-captain drew to a halt and offered Ichigo a rather watery look. A sniffle quickly followed it. _

"_I apologize, Kurosaki-kun," Izuru mumbled, twisting his hands self-consciously. "Perhaps we can give it another try later?" _

_Ichigo, slightly embarrassed, rubbed the back of his head. "It was… nice?" he tried, wincing when it came out more of a question. Inwardly, he was cursing Rukia for ever getting him into this mess. He hated that he was the one to make Izuru cry. _

_The other Shinigami managed a light smile, and before Ichigo knew what was happening, Izuru leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. _

"_Thank you for understanding," Izuru whispered, and with that, he disappeared into his home, leaving Ichigo watching after him in surprise, eyes wide. _

* * *

a/n: Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! I'll be taking a slight hiatus until January since I will lose my internet when I go home for Christmas vacation but rest assured, I will return with more Bleach drabbles for you to enjoy. Check out my homesite if you want a peek of things to come. 


	37. Bitter Taste

**Title: Bitter Taste  
Pairings/Characters: Aizen/Ichimaru, Mentions of Others  
Rating: M  
Warning: Dark Themes, OOC  
Spoilers: Soul Society Arc and Beyond  
Words: 635  
Description: There are some cravings that are too hard to let go.**

* * *

Gin knows that having an addiction to a man like Aizen Sousuke isn't healthy for him. But from the moment he meets the man, there is nothing he can do to stop the desire. Even if it poisons him all the way through, he demands every morsel and bitter taste of Aizen's affections.

Sharp and acrid to the point of pain, it is there, sliding its way inside of him, and even if he wants to, he can't detangle it from the threads of his being. This craving, it is unavoidable.

It is only part of the reason why he follows the man, part of the reason he hungers for the paradise that Aizen desires.

He thinks that he would very much rather sit at the feet of a soft-spoken demon with graceful, talented hands than find himself at the end of a Shinigami's zanpakutou with their hollow words and duplicitous rules and laws. After all, Gin long ago lost his conviction in Seireitei's ability to direct anything before it ever manages to sprout to life. And he believes that under the coercion of Aizen's lips, the wonderful taste of his sin, he can find a world to become lost in.

He knows it would probably be better for him, healthier even, if he walks away from this sensual lure, this sadistic web that Aizen has trapped him in. If anyone were to see him now, they would chirp, "Gin's like Izuru now, ne? Just a pretty little plaything. Wonder how long it took Aizen to claim that innocence."

Or at least, that's what Gin imagines they would say. He likes to think about it sometimes, panting on the floor and staring at the black night of Hueco Mundo and its solitary moon.

He supposes that it might be true. After all, he's contributed nothing since leaving Soul Society, spending most of his time on his back, body shuddering as bits and pieces of his flesh are torn away, leaving him covered in his own blood. He bathes in the feel of fingers pressed into his skin, leaving black and purple bruises behind. He likes the subtle warmth of moist breath on the curve of his ear.

Still, there are truths of which Gin remains startlingly aware.

The Arrancar aren't there to follow him, but instead, cast earnest eyes on Aizen, crawling and scrambling over each other, hoping for a complimentary look to fall their direction. Gin supposes he can understand their desire to please. He knows his purpose; he serves it well. And while he doesn't find himself dissatisfied with his position, Gin hates that even he wishes for those same words to fall from Aizen's lips sometimes.

He knows that there must be something wrong with him, something that's just not quite right. And every time, he goes crawling back for more. Literally crawling since it is like his legs won't carry him. He basks in the overpowering pulse of Aizen's reiatsu and hums happily, pleased with every brush of fingers over his skin.

He doesn't care that he will be a prince of heaven, that Aizen has already decreed that he will be one. All Gin desires is just a taste of the affection he has been denied all his life. He is just as much under the man's spell as poor Hinamori and all the rest of them. The only difference is that he goes willingly, eyes wide open.

And he knows that he should be bitter in some way, knows that his pride is supposed to be outraged against this sort of thing. He understands he should break away from such unhealthy urges, feels it in his very soul.

Then again, Gin never has been one to follow the rules. And he doesn't see a good reason to start now.

-----

Thanks for reading! And sorry for the long wait. I promise, much more is to come as I get back in the groove of things. I'm working on all those requests if you haven't seen it yet, I may have already written it for a future chapter. I'm currently a bit ahead of myself that way I can always have something ready for you. If you want to see what's coming, check out my homepage. Leave a review before you go!


	38. Why Aizen No Longer Wears Red

**Title: Il Forte and the Bull (Or Why Aizen No Longer Wears Red)  
Characters: Aizen, Gin, Il Forte**  
Rating: T  
**Warnings: Spoilers for Soul Society Arc and Beyond  
Words: 460  
Description: There are reasons Aizen doesn't wear red.**

* * *

It was his own fault, really.

Aizen Sousuke wasn't normally a fan of the color red. It was too bright, too cheery for his tastes. It was fake, reminding him all too much of the things he had left behind in Soul Society. Therefore, when it came to choosing the color for his sash to complete his new non-Shinigami ensemble, he had foregone red completely, settling for a nice black or a placid navy. Whichever his mood preferred.

However, hearing Gin complain on more than one occasion that Hueco Mundo was simply drab and boring and full of _sand_, he thought that perhaps there was something he could do to spice things up a little. Changing a minor detail in his wardrobe was only a small concession to make. He chose red simply because his subordinate had an unhealthy obsession with the color.

Thinking back on it now, he realized that this may have been an underlying reason for the hostility and tension between Il Forte and Gin.

Aizen had not expected the small change to be noticed by anyone other than Gin. Truthfully, it was such a tiny detail. Only, he had forgotten in all of his careful consideration what effect the alteration might have had on any of his Arrancar.

Honestly, he should have known better, especially considering he was present for Il Forte's creation. He had smirked at the interpretation of the former Hollow's name, thinking it absolutely fitting. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the information he had collected on the living world.

After all, having one of your own Arrancar randomly try to trample you, seemingly out of nowhere, was not an incident he would like to relive. Much less multiple times before he finally figured out why one of his favorites had suddenly gone berserk. Only quick reflexes and centuries of battle experience had saved him on both occasions from a painful collision and goring, possibly even crushing of his important manhood. Still, he couldn't say the same for Il Forte, who had promptly raged past him, only to slam head first into a wall, cracking it on impact.

Gin, who had been present for the second occurrence, had clucked his tongue, responding in his usual taunting tone that Aizen was awful cruel to tease poor hime-chan like that. It wasn't fair for him to wander around, his own mysterious wind causing his red sash to wave rather invitingly.

From that day forward, Aizen returned to his standard black, leaving things much simpler. Luckily, when Il Forte regained consciousness, none the worse for wear, he appeared to have forgotten the whole encounter.

That didn't stop Gin from chirping "Toro! Toro!" whenever the mood suited him, however. This, of course, hadn't endeared the Arrancar to Gin in the slightest. In fact, it perhaps worsened Il Forte's distaste for the former captain.

Still, Aizen, being the evil overlord that he was, never bothered to stop him.

-----

A/N: You will notice that, with Il Forte dead, Aizen wears red once again. Check the images! I did my research, lol.


	39. Just a Little Bit Selfish

**Title: Just a Little Bit Selfish  
Pairings/Characters: Jyuushiro/Rukia, Renji, Byakuya  
Rating: T  
Warning: Spoilers for Soul Society Arc and Beyond  
Words: 684  
Description: She only wanted someone to ask her to stay.  
Dedication: For Lady Azar since she betas **_**everything.**_

* * *

She thinks that there must be some rule that states two friends who grow up together will eventually fall in love, especially if they are of the opposite sex. That love with turn to marriage and children and happily ever after. Or at least, it is a law that everyone seems to accept since they are dead set on her pairing with Renji and riding off into the sunset. Admittedly, most of it is his fault since he keeps pulling foolish stunts that make him look like a lovesick dolt. 

Rukia is pretty sure that she doesn't love Renji, at least, not like that. They are simply friends, and honestly, the big, dumb idiot would probably get on her nerves. Besides, she has too much fun kicking him around, sometimes just for the hell of it.

This best-friend rule falls flat between the two of them because Rukia finds her eyes wandering elsewhere. To a kind smile and a gentle disposition, to a man who makes mistakes and admits to them, a man confident in his abilities. She finds her heart warming to a shinigami who asks her to stay.

She still remembers that day, telling Renji that Byakuya wanted to adopt her into his clan. She remembers hoping that Renji would be selfish, hoping he would ask her to turn it down, to stay with him. A part of her wanted him to say that because she was scared, of nobility, of Byakuya, of stepping into a world she didn't know. And she didn't want to lose Renji. There was a well-known distance between commoners and nobles that she would have to follow.

The smile on his face, the encouragement, it broke a part of her heart. The logical side of her knew that he thought she'd be happier there, and he never was any good at seeing the big picture or even really understanding her.

Yet, Rukia knows that there was also a foolish side to her heart. It was this side that broke, crumbling around her and leaving her aching. She remembers feeling the warmth of her tears at the back of her eyelids, wishing Renji had been just a little bit stronger, a little bit more selfish. She thinks that maybe it might have been then that she realized she could never love Renji as anything more than a friend.

And eventually, history repeats itself, as it is known to do.

Kaien's death is something she'll never forget, remaining firmly imprinted on her heart. She uses it as a reminder to herself and vows to never make the same mistake. She feels she can learn, and maybe someday, she'll be okay. Maybe she'll forgive herself.

Byakuya doesn't see it with the same eyes. He is furious, though he doesn't display it outwardly, especially with Ukitake-taichou. He wants her to choose another division, to transfer somewhere else. He wants her safer, away from the dangers of battle. He doesn't want to lose someone else.

And Rukia tells Ukitake-taichou this, her face somber and worn. It is in the back of her mind to just tell Byakuya yes, as she always does, but a part of her doesn't want to leave the thirteenth division either. She enjoys it there with the friends she has made, and they have already lost Kaien. She doesn't want to leave them, not now.

Her white-haired captain gets a strange look in his eyes when she tells him what her brother insists upon. He asks her if she really wants to leave. She says she doesn't know. She's still waiting in her mind.

Ukitake-taichou frowns but not at her and shakes his head. He holds out a hand, laying it gently across hers comfortingly. It makes her feel warm on the inside, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. He can't have known how she feels about him, how her admiration, still strong even now, has turned to something a little bit deeper. A little bit stronger.

He lifts his gaze to her, dark eyes gentle and affectionate and something akin to hope flutters up in her heart.

And then, he asks her to stay.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading guys! I promise, I'm getting on those requests. I told myself I would work on them all this week! Also, if you want more Bleach from me, there's a few pieces I've been posting separately if you want to check them out (and leave reviews, -hint, hint-). Thanks!  



	40. The Million Yen Question

**Title: The Million-Yen Question  
Pairings/Characters: Jyuushiro/Shunsui, Lots of Others Stick In Their Noses  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Implied Yaoi  
Words: 885  
Description: Takes place before the Soul Society Arc (thus no Ichigo and friends) After two millennia, Shunsui suffers his first identity crisis… well, sort of.**

* * *

Kyouraku Shunsui had noticed a thing or two in his life. People tended to think that since he slept and drank a lot he didn't really notice anything, but they were wrong. Oh so wrong. His grey-green eyes had definitely caught a few peculiarities.

Shunsui tilted his head to the side and considered, his musing thoughts flitting past his lips as he posed them to his ever-faithful companion. "Jyuu-chan," he began conversationally as their shoulders bumped together, "do you ever wonder why everyone thinks we're gay?"

His best buddy blinked, nearly stopping mid-stride. "Well, that came out of nowhere," the white-haired man responded.

He surreptitiously glanced around at their fellow Shinigami lingering nearby. Having just come from a meeting, everyone was flooding out of the first division, ready to get far from Yamamoto's droning voice.

Behind them, Nanao snorted. "Perhaps it's your fashion sense," she commented, reaching up to adjust her glasses with one finger. "Or lack thereof."

"Not so, Nanao-chan!" Shunsui declared, automatically assuming she was speaking of his haori. After all, he had heard her complain about it on numerous occasions. "Pink's in this year!"

Her stare was steady. "But not pinwheel hair-ties," she countered.

"And not flowery underwear either," Ukitake added in musingly. When all eyes turned his direction, he waved a hand and nervously smiled. "Not that I would know." An uncertain chuckle followed.

No one was convinced.

Footsteps on the roofs above them had Shunsui tilting his head to the sky as he spotted Soi-fon. "Not to mention Ukitake isn't the epitome of manliness," she commented with a sniff before speeding away in a flit of shunpo.

Jyuushiro was affronted, idly patting down his flyaway, long, white strands.

To their other side, Unohana offered them a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling. "Perhaps it is because for the past two-thousand years you have taken Ukitake-taichou to every Shinigami function," she added pleasantly before finishing, "as your 'stag' date. Remember, Kyouraku-taichou?"

The eighth division captain was aghast. "But what about all the women I've dated?" he protested.

"Cover," chimed in about five voices that he couldn't distinguish from the one another. Still, one suspiciously sounded like Byakuya-kun, but he couldn't be sure.

"Denial," Kenpachi boomed from their right, grinning ferally down at both men. He always knew there was something fruity about the two of them.

Shunsui pouted. He searched his mind for another bit of proof to throw at them because it was obvious that a man as manly as he could not possibly be gay. His eyes luckily fell on his good friend Aizen Sousuke. Shunsui grinned.

"Sousuke-kun?" he called out in a sing-song voice.

Aizen paused in his walk and half-turned towards him, arching a brow.

"Do you think I'm gay?"

There was a moment of silence. Sousuke looked torn. He hemmed and hawed before finally smiling and waving as if he hadn't heard Shunsui's question.

"Oh, look," he declared, managing to sound completely innocent. "Hinamori-kun is calling me. I must be off."

In a dash, he was gone.

Matsumoto was a grand witness to the entire debacle and laughed, flipping her hair over one shoulder. Her captain was amused in an entirely different way.

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes. "Shunsui, you're as gay as feathers on Ayasegawa's face," he mumbled under his breath, much to the amusement of his vice-captain.

"Really?" Shunsui was surprised.

Jyuushiro tilted his head to the side, also baffled. "How so?"

Matsumoto tittered, barely controlling her giggles. "Well… ya fell out of the gay tree, hitting every gay branch on the way down and ya landed on Ukitake-taichou…" She paused for dramatic effect before pointing directly at Shunsui and winking. "And ya did him."

Spotting their shocked and twin expressions, Kiyone laughed and waved a hand at them. "No seriously," she chirped. "Your gayness can be seen from Hueco Mundo." She hesitated and paled before adding a tentative, "…Sir?"

For once, Sentarou was not arguing with her.

The two captains blinked in tandem, exchanging glances.

Nanao sighed and moved her book, tucking it under her other arm. "Or it could be that you're holding Ukitake-taichou's hand right now and have been for the past ten minutes." She shrugged. "But that's just me, taichou."

Shunsui looked down, and to his surprise, yes, their fingers were intertwined. Almost as if by magic. He blinked again, though didn't relinquish his hold. His fingers seemed pretty comfortable where they were, after all. Green eyes lifted to his best friend, who was smiling as always.

"Well," the eighth division captain commented, "I'll be." He squeezed Jyuushiro's hand and grinned when received an answering press in return.

The two bumped shoulders once more, lingering even closer together than before.

Nanao rolled her eyes and adjusted her glasses yet again. "Anymore curiosities, taichou?" she asked, if only to stop them from making their usual sparkly, googly eyes at one another.

But they ignored her, off in their own little world. Again, no surprise.

"Let's go have some sake, Jyuu-chan," Shunsui was saying, tipping his hat backwards and leering suggestively at his once-best-friend-now-probably-boy-friend-cute-little-Jyuushiro.

The thirteenth division captain chuckled, shooting Nanao an apologetic look as he prepared to accept his companion's invitation. "Whatever you say, Shunsui."

In the background, Kenpachi rolled his eyes and grunted, "I told 'em there was something fruity goin' on.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading! I've finally, _finally_ gotten around to some of those requests so expect them soon. (Checking out the full list of upcoming drabbles on my homepage is the best way to tell when.)

Oh! and the "every gay branch on the way down" long description was from a KHII fanart comic that I saw on DeviantArt but can't seem to find again and wish I could so I could ask the artist for permission. If you're reading this, I"M SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I'll take it down if you wish it.

With that said, thanks for reading and enjoy!


	41. Not Quite Emo

**Title: Not Quite Emo  
Characters: Kira Izuru, Mentions of Others  
Rating: T  
Warning: Spoilers for Soul Society Arc  
Word Count: 739  
Description: Kira Izuru is out to prove everyone wrong.  
Dedicated to Infenum, who wanted a Kira piece that was "post Gin betrayal but not actually all emo and hung up." I hope this fits!**

He thought about moping. He considered the idea of moping. He actually even tried it, pulling his lips down into a frown and staring disconsolately out into the distance. He supposed in hindsight that might have been what started the rumors. Especially since Abarai-kun had walked past him at that exact instant, automatically assuming the worst.

"Poor Izuru," they said. "He just wasn't getting over that bastard Ichimaru's betrayal."

Pfft.

Izuru knew better than that. He was glad the creep was gone. But once the rumors had started, he couldn't get them to stop, and then, people saw what they wanted to see and not what was really there. So they labeled him as depressed and melancholy and all sorts of morose terms that he didn't really want associated with him but had to accept anyway.

At first, he thought that maybe he ought to mourn. Ichimaru was his captain, after all, and feelings of betrayal _did_linger. However, considering how he had been deceived, Izuru was more angry than upset. His captain had made him look like a fool several times over. And even now, Gin was still doing it because everyone thought that poor Izuru was moping.

He supposed, considering Hinamori-chan's state of pure insanity, that they expected the same from him. Then again, no one thought Hisagi-san had slipped into an endless depression of misery and woe, and Izuru wasn't nearly as friendly with his former captain as Hisagi-senpai had been.

Well admittedly, there was a part of him that had worshiped the very ground that Ichimaru walked on. The man was amazing, and once upon a time, he had believed in Izuru, believed that the skinny blond with the all-too-innocent eyes might one day become a strong Shinigami. Though even now, Izuru was beginning to doubt that just a little bit. Perhaps Ichimaru was just looking for someone corruptible.

He wondered if it was too cruel of him to vow to become strong enough to kick Ichimaru's ass the next time they met. To show Ichimaru that he actually _was_strong enough and not just some toy that could be played with and then tossed away.

So no, Izuru was absolutely not moping about the betrayal. He was not locked in his room, wrapped around a pillow and weeping his eyes out. He was not roaming around with a lost look on his face or begging his best friend to show Ichimaru the error of his ways because surely "he's just confused."

No, Izuru was glad that the bastard was gone because now he could finally shine. Now, he could come out from his captain's shadow and prove that he's more than just a pretty blond with a sword. Now, he could show everyone that their initial thoughts of him were wrong ,and he_was _that strong and not even Ichimaru's betrayal could send him into the deepest pits of depression.

And Izuru planned on showing them soon, too. Right away. Or at least, in a couple of weeks.

He just wanted to milk the unwanted sympathy a little while longer. _No one_ made chocolate-chip brownies or yummy deserts like Kotetsu-fukutaichou, and Matsumoto-san was more willing to part with the good alcohol now that they had a "bond of loneliness." And Unohana-taichou, who always had the best tea, was now sending him supposedly anonymous care packages. He was rapidly becoming addicted to having lazy days where he didn't have to do any paperwork thanks to Ise-san. Honestly, he had been getting rather tired of doing it all himself for the last decade or so.

And even his male friends and the men of Seireitei were getting into the act. He had a wonderful new brush set and as many books as he could possibly read thanks to Abarai-kun and Iba-kun, not to mention that they practically waited on him hand and foot. His wardrobe was growing exponentially from all the beautiful kimono Ayasegawa-san insisted on bringing him. And he had never eaten so well with all the food Kyouraku-taichou and Ukitake-taichou sent to him.

No, Izuru was absolutely not torn by Ichimaru's absence. The third division was a bit brighter now, the windows thrown wide open. He found he could stand a bit straighter and that Wabisuke wasn't as heavy as he used to be. Izuru thought that maybe he could try smiling again.

But not for a little while yet.

He still wanted those brownies.

**-----**

**Thanks for reading! I promise guys. I'm at work on those requests. You should start seeing some of them soon! **


	42. A Brother's Duty

**Title: A Brother's Duty  
Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Byakuya, Rukia, Ukitake Jyuushiro  
Rating: T  
Warning: Ichigo attempting to be subtle.  
Words: 1,522  
Description: When Ichigo finds out Rukia's secret, he makes it his duty to give her a hand. Part of the "Never Been Kissed" series, (Drabbles 1, 9, 34)**

* * *

Rukia was babbling again, not that Ichigo was listening. In fact, the substitute Shinigami was actually trying to go to sleep. He was curled on his bed, a pillow over his head, trying to drown out her voice, but she didn't appear to be noticing.

As usual.

Ichigo wasn't exactly certain why Rukia liked to jabber at him. Perhaps she took some sadistic joy in seeing how far she could push before he would explode. After all, she never wanted to talk to him unless he was in the middle of doing something else. Like right now, when he was attempting to go to sleep after a hard day of training and fighting Arrancar.

Still, all her usual babble gave him plenty enough practice to tune her out, except for the occasional phrase that slipped through his defenses.

"...I think Keigo needs therapy..."

"…Renji was looking at nii-sama rather strangely today…"

"…Hisagi-san is apparently a very good knitter…"

"...and I love Ukitake-taichou."

Ichigo grunted. "That's nice," he mumbled, wondering how long had passed and if that meant she was finally drawing to an end.

"No, I mean. The same way you love nii-sama."

On the bed, Ichigo froze and slowly dragged the pillow from his face. "What're you talking about?" he asked, his voice faintly nervous.

Dammit.

"I don't like your brother."

She shot him a disbelieving stare. "I'm not stupid. Did you forget that I'm the one that set you guys up?" she retorted. "Besides, I caught you two trying to swallow each other's tongues."

He hemmed and hawed, his eyes shifting from side to side. "Right... so... Ukitake-san?" he redirected, brilliantly changing the subject.

Rukia looked as if she was going to argue before slumping. "Yes. Though I know better than to expect anything will ever come of it," she added dejectedly, eyes dim.

Ichigo idly wondered why she felt the need to drop this particular bombshell. Or why he had suddenly become her one of her girlfriends. He racked his brain for an answer, but not accustomed to talking to other people about their crushes on their superior officers, he drew a blank. So he settled for abrupt honesty. It was what he was good at anyway.

"Have you asked him?"

The look she gave him clearly implied her thoughts on that suggestion. It was like she thought his brain had suddenly shrunk two sizes. Well, what did she expect? He wasn't some love doctor.

Ichigo sighed. "You never know unless you try."

"Not everyone can be as lucky as you," she countered with a sniff. "I can't just go rushing into a situation and hope everything comes out victorious." Then, to his surprise, Rukia suddenly stood up, looking peeved. "Never mind. Forget I told you anything," she muttered before suddenly storming from his room, leaving Ichigo to blink in bewilderment after her.

* * *

Ichigo mused on Rukia's revelation for several days, mostly because it was obvious she wasn't too happy with his reaction. And also, he had a certain stake in it all, especially considering that he was dating her brother. It was sort of like he had to watch out for her where Byakuya couldn't. Besides, it wasn't as if he would up and tell Byakuya either.

And Ichigo supposed that he sort of owed Rukia. She did, after all, indirectly get her brother and him together.

Therefore, it was up to him to do something with the information he had been given. With that in mind, Ichigo found himself venturing into Soul Society with the intention of joining Ukitake-taichou for afternoon tea. He was going to scope him out, for lack of a better word.

The thirteenth division captain was more than happy to see him, smiling in greeting as his two third-seats showed Ichigo into his office.

"Kurosaki-kun, this is a pleasant surprise," Ukitake greeted as he set about getting their tea ready.

The substitute Shinigami lowered himself by a table, idly tapping his fingers on his knees. "I was in the area," he replied without second thought.

It was a rather lame excuse, but it did give him time to think. He hadn't actually planned what he was going to say. Like everything else, he hoped it would just come to him as he went. He was lucky like that.

The look Ukitake-san gave him was full of amusement. "I see," the captain responded with a light grin as he poured their tea. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Ichigo wasn't a fan of subtlety nor was he really good at it. His best talent was in barging into the situation and hacking his way through. Little things like word-play and tiptoeing around his real intentions weren't really his style. Nevertheless, he tried his best.

"Actually, I... uh..." Ichigo shifted, toying with his cup and racking his brain for something to say.

A question or comment. Think, dammit!

"...I came for some advice," he finally blurted out since it was partly true and partly not.

This clearly surprised the older man. "I shall do my best to help, Kurosaki-kun." He settled more comfortably, giving Ichigo his full attention.

Ichigo tapped his fingers on his knees as he thought about it, wondering how to approach the situation in an offhand manner. The answer came slowly.

"What are the... _rules _involving dating and relationships for the Gotei 13?"

There was a glimmer in the captain's eye, and Ichigo wasn't sure he liked it.

The boy hastily added, "Specifically within or between divisions?"

A white eyebrow arched. "That's an odd question for someone who the rules don't apply to." Ukitake calmly sipped his tea.

The man had a point.

Ichigo couldn't believe he was about to reduce himself to this childish method. But dammit, he was out of options.

He rubbed the back of his head. "You see, I have this friend," Ichigo began, hating that he had been forced into his last resort. "He really likes his captain but doesn't want to risk anything for himself or for the captain."

"You have a friend," Ukitake-san repeated, his voice filled with bemusement as he hid his grin with his teacup.

The substitute Shinigami nodded.

"With a crush on his captain," the older man continued, unable to hide his smile any longer.

Another nod.

"And he doesn't know whether his captain likes him back?"

Ichigo wondered if Ukitake-san was deliberately repeating everything he had just said because it amused him or if he honestly didn't get it. Still, the twinkle he caught in the captain's eyes was plainly visible.

"Perhaps he should just ask?" Ukitake finally suggested, setting down his cup.

"That's the same thing I said," Ichigo grumbled to himself, well remembering Rukia's reaction to _that_ answer. "But he wasn't satisfied with that solution."

"I see," Ukitake responded, pausing to ponder before he appeared to come to a conclusion, and his face took on a very peculiar expression. "It's noble of you, Kurosaki-kun, to step aside for Abarai-kun's... err, _crush_."

Ichigo blinked. Noble? Renji? What the hell was the man talking about? Renji didn't have a...

Understanding suddenly dawned.

"What? Renji? No, not that friend. This is someone else. You... uh... you don't know him," Ichigo stuttered, reddening as he realized that Ukitake-san had somehow known, or had guessed, that he liked Byakuya.

It was the truth, though the captain probably didn't know just how much. Ichigo was pretty certain that no one besides Rukia knew that they were together, and she had only seen them kiss. She had no way of knowing just how far they'd really gone.

In any case, Ukitake didn't seem convinced with Ichigo's explanation. He lowered his gaze to the table, and Ichigo could practically see the names of all of his acquaintances flashing through the man's mind, trying to discern exactly whom it was. The list was smaller than he thought it would be. In an attempt to distract Ukitake from inadvertently discovering the identity of Ichigo's elusive friend, he opened his mouth to question him further on Shinigami rules.

Suddenly, however, Ukitake-san's mouth dropped. And he blushed, starting at the tips of his ears and quickly spreading all the way across his face. He flushed far brighter than a man as refined as him seemed capable.

"And your friend," he started but then paused. Ukitake cleared his throat and continued, "likes her... I mean, _his_ captain?"

A slow grin tried to creep its way onto Ichigo's face. "Yeah, I said that already."

Ukitake_fidgeted_. He actually fidgeted, and at that point, Ichigo knew exactly what conclusion he had come to.

"And your friend really likes her--" Insert well-timed cough. "--_his_ captain?"

It was Ichigo's turn to be amused. "Actually, I'm pretty sure she loves him." He was not even going to attempt to hide the gender anymore.

A look that he could only describe as stunned amazement flitted across Ukitake's face. "Why?"

Instead of answering, Ichigo rose to his feet and brushed nonexistent dirt off of his hakama. "Why don't you ask her?" he said with a bright smile and a faint bow. "Thanks for the advice, Ukitake-san. It was really helpful."

"You're welcome," the captain responded out of instinct, his voice holding a note of both faint disbelief and unveiled hope. "Anytime."

Ichigo was unable to hide his grin as he walked out of Ukitake's office. Never let it be said that he ever let a problem go unsolved.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

a/n: Ukitake/Rukia happens to be my beta's OTP so I write this for her. She pretty much co-writes this stuff with me (e.g. brainstorming, RP for character dialogue) though I'm the one that actually sits down and makes it an actual fic with the writing. So go give her some love! She's Lady Azar de Tameran on this site (in my favorites) and she writes some amazing Byakuya/Ichigo and Gin/Hitsugaya stuff.

Thanks for reading! I promise, I'm working on those requests! I think I've finished up to 63 drabbles so far with lots, lots more to come. (Including an actual fic! Whoot!)

Leave a review before you go. Good karma and all that. Thanks!


	43. Seven Minutes in Heaven

**Title: Seven Minutes in Heaven  
Characters: Kenpachi, Byakuya  
Rating: T  
Warning: Slight Language, Yaoi Themes  
****Words: 940  
Description: There were worse ways to spend his time than crammed into a closet with Kuchiki Byakuya. If You've seen Episode 142 then you know where I've gotten this from. **

* * *

'_There were worse ways to spend his time than crammed into a small, semi-dark closet with Kuchiki Byakuya_,' Zaraki Kenpachi thought to himself.

Every time he shifted position, the princess would give him that prissy sniff and haughty glare that made the eleventh division captain want to bark out laughing but didn't because they were supposed to be hiding and waiting for the perfect moment to make their appearance. Che, Kenpachi didn't get the purpose of the display, but the old man had ordered it, and rather than get annoyed with arguing, he just listened. For once.

Besides, it was kind of fun to annoy the other captain, just for the hell of it.

Speaking of which, it was time for another subtle-but-not-really-since-it-was-planned shift of his legs. And there it was, that look again.

"Zaraki-taichou," Byakuya whispered, still managing to sound both imperious and disdainful. "Please refrain from making large movements."

The eleventh division captain grinned widely, displaying his fangs. "Ain't much room, hime," he grunted, knowing the term would annoy the other man. "Maybe ya should sit in my lap if yer uncomfortable."

Too late, Kenpachi realized what he had said. Not that he would take it back since the wide-eyed, owl look in Kuchiki's eyes was well worth it. Until that look was replaced by a slow, sliding smirk that made Zaraki very, very afraid. The kind of fear he felt when Yachiru was feeling particularly whiny or his fifth-seat got that funny gleam in his eyes.

Kuchiki sat up straighter and eyed his unfortunate closet companion. "Is that a proposition, Zaraki-taichou?" he asked.

And somehow, when he spoke this time, it was with a purr that may or may not have made Kenpachi tingle in places he shouldn't have ever tingled. Yet, it was said so sweetly that he also thought that maybe Kuchiki had been replaced by an alien. Yeah, definitely going with that explanation.

Kenpachi snorted and tried to keep his manly control of the situation. That's right.

_He_ was annoying the princess, not the other way around. _He_ was the master _here_. So he leered at Byakuya, convinced that no one in their right mind could handle being leered at by him, the most fearsome captain in all of Soul Society. Zaraki Kenpachi would show the priss that his bravado was fake.

He patted his lap. "Got a space just for ya," he said, one eye glinting mischievously.

Ha! That would show him. Kenpachi was impressed with his own brilliance.

Until Kuchiki calmly rose to his feet and brushed off his hakama, as if offended by the invisible dust specking the dark fabric.

"Wait! What're ya doin'?"

The other captain eyed him. "Taking you up on your offer, of course. I don't want to sit on the floor if there are better options available."

Zaraki was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Kuchiki drew closer, though there really wasn't that much space to begin with, setting his sights on Kenpachi's empty, relatively dust-free lap. The eleventh division captain was surprised that the prissy noble had the guts to do such a thing. His respect for Byakuya rose one more notch on the meter.

"Fine." Kenpachi grunted.

If Kuchiki wasn't afraid, then neither was he.

He watched with a wary eye, ignoring the _anticipation_ that was actually thundering inside of him. In that moment, Kenpachi found himself afraid and filling with the unmistakable urge to run – run far, far away before it was too late – overtook him.

Byakuya drew near enough that Kenpachi could see the gleam of his grey eyes, and he held his breath... until an annoying, chirping sound broke the hesitant silence. The sixth division captain paused, and they stared at each other for a moment before the noise erupted again, louder and more insistent.

The Kuchiki heir made the realization first, and abruptly, he altered his course, suddenly drawing straight. The smirking face was replaced with his usual empty expression as he slipped one hand into his pocket and withdrew the noisy phone that was alerting them to the fact that it was time.

Che. They wouldn't let Kenpachi have one. He was damned if he knew why. He couldn't help that they were... _delicate_.

In any case, the eleventh division captain found himself gaping a moment at the sudden change before he hauled himself to his feet, towering over Kuchiki. He took a small measure of pride in that. Nobody one-upped him; that was for sure. Kuchiki-hime couldn't intimidate him. Nope. Not at all.

"That is the signal, Zaraki-taichou."

Kenpachi smirked. And pretended very, very hard that a part of him had _not_ looked forward to what had been interrupted.

Nope. He wasn't developing an awkward crush on Kuchiki-hime. Not at all.

Girls had crushes. People like the runt in the tenth division had crushes. Kenpachi was _not _either of the above. Therefore, he did not have a crush. He was just... admiring. Yes, he was admiring the nice curves of Kuchiki Byakuya's ass as they walked out of their hidey-hole.

After all, Zaraki Kenpachi was an ass man.

But he didn't have a crush.

* * *

A/N: Ass man is a reference to a fanfiction I haven't read but my beta has. It's titled _Peer Review_ by Bjorn, and I hope the author doesn't mind that I referenced it.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I promise! I'm still working on those requests and have actually managed to finish quite a few of them.


	44. The Nightmare in Seireitei

**Title: The Nightmare in Seireitei  
Pairings/Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, Shunsui, Yumichika, Ikkaku  
Rating: K  
Words: 1065  
Warning: Pure Crack, OOC  
Description: It was a nightmare, only a stupid nightmare. Right?  
Dedication: For Infenum, who wanted a YumichikaxShunsui. I'm sorry, this is the best I could do... **

* * *

The flirty fifth-seat giggled as he coyly placed a hand on Shunsui's upper arm. "My, Kyouraku-taichou, you have such large muscles," he purred, fluttering his eyelashes at the older man. 

Shunsui grinned broadly, wrapping his free arm around Yumichika and pulling him close against his side, where the fifth-seat automatically curled towards him. "Why, thank you, Ayasegawa-san. You have such beautiful eyes. Like the sky during twilight."

From where he stood, watching with horror, Jyuushiro felt pinned to the ground. It didn't seem possible… or plausible. There was no way Shunsui would ever choose Yumichika-san. But there they stood, cuddling in public and trading coos of romance.

Shaking his head with determination, Jyuushiro called out for his best friend, his brother in everything but blood. "Shunsui! Have you forgotten about our plans for today?" he asked as he strode up to the embracing pair, trying not to watch as Shunsui's hands slid down the younger man's backside.

Immediately, purple eyes flashed and fingers tightened possessively around the eighth division captain. "Come, my dearest Kyouraku-taichou. You must ignore him. I'm your boyfriend… your one true love. Not this waif." Yumichika was practically hissing in Jyuushiro's direction, vaguely resembling a ruffled peacock.

Jyuushiro's mouth dropped.

Not only was Shunsui _not_ arguing, but he was grinning. He cast Jyuushiro a look that might have been considered apologetic, if it wasn't laced with lecherous intention towards the leech on his arm, and promptly turned away. Yumichika pressed victoriously to his side.

"Sorry, Ukitake-taichou," Shunsui chirped out airily, caressing his paramour. "I want to get laid tonight. And who wouldn't want this wondrous being?" he asked rhetorically, eyes gleaming like a man madly in love.

Jyuushiro felt the final nail hit home. _Ukitake-taichou_? What had happened to Jyuu-chan? Had he been remanded to just any Shinigami Shunsui might pass by in the street?

He could only watch as his best friend walked away, a sashaying Yumichika on his arm. Leaving him behind in the dust, alone and forgotten. A tumbleweed blew across the ground behind him, and the lone wind whistled a mournful tune. There was a terrible pain in his chest, like his heart had just shattered before being subsequently ripped out.

"No!" he cried to the heavens, sinking to his knees. "It can't be! Shunsui!"

…Ukitake Jyuushiro awoke with a start and promptly felt the clenching of his lungs, breaking into several coughs. Once the fit had passed a few minutes later, it brought with it the memory of his dream, or nightmare to be more precise. A sudden and irrational fear attacked him then as he recalled the image of his best friend leaving him for Ayasegawa Yumichika.

He had to be stopped.

Throwing back the covers, Jyuushiro rose from his futon, wincing at the coldness of the wood beneath this feet. However, he pushed all discomfort aside as he pulled on his robe and rushed out, heading two doors down to the guest room that Shunsui always claimed whenever he invited himself over. He didn't even bother to knock, just slid the door open with a loud bang.

Sprawled out over the covers like the lazy sod he was and claiming every inch of the bed, Shunsui continued to snore peacefully, completely oblivious to his best friend's distress. His jaw tightening with determination, Jyuushiro strode inside.

"Shunsui!" he barked or attempted to. It came out more of a rasp, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Shunsui! Wake up!"

There was a snort and a snuffle. "Jyuu-chan, m'tired... snore."

"Shunsui!"

The other captain jerked awake with a start, sitting straight up in the bed in a move that Jyuushiro hadn't even known was possible, blankets all falling askew. He blinked sleepily at the white-haired man hovering beside him.

"Jyuu-chan?"

"Please tell me you won't date Ayasegawa-san!" Jyuushiro blurted out suddenly, looking more than a bit crazed.

Shunsui blinked again. "What? That came out of nowhere."

Frustrated and still shaken, Jyuushiro waved his hands dramatically. "Shunsui!"

"Jyuu-chan, I'm straight!" the eighth division captain said, holding up his hands as if afraid his best buddy would suddenly attack him. There was a wild and almost feral look in those dark eyes. "The only person I'd ever break that for is you." He paused. "Or maybe Byakuya-bo."

Jyuushiro studied him with disbelief. "But what about that one time with Sousuke-kun?"

Shunsui glared, left eye twitching as a very noticeable blush spread over his face. "I thought we agreed never to talk about that again," he said through slightly clenched teeth, scrutinizing his Jyuu-chan. "And why the sudden interest in my love life?"

Jyuushiro immediately found great fascination with the floorboards, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "It was stupid, just a dream. Don't worry about it."

Shunsui couldn't help but think that his buddy was being just a little bit cute right now. "A dream in which I date Ayasegawa?" he questioned with a bit of disbelief. At Ukitake's hesitant nod, Shunsui chuckled to himself. "Not going to happen. Not ever."

The look of relief on the other man's face was priceless. "That's good to know."

Shunsui chuckled again and flopped back down on the bed, the sleep's siren call getting louder and louder with every passing second. "Go back to sleep, Jyuu-chan," he murmured, blindly groping for blankets. "You'll catch a cold like that."

Smiling, Jyuushiro nodded. "You're right," he agreed, turning back towards the door. "Good night, Shunsui."

All he received was a snore in return. Typical.

* * *

Fate, it seemed, had a way of mocking Jyuushiro at random intervals. The next day seemed to be a prime candidate for his torture.

While heading to the weekly captain's meeting at the first division, exactly whom did he and Shunsui happen to come across? None other than Madarame Ikkaku and the infamous Ayasegawa Yumichika himself. The flash of distrust and dislike that swept through Jyuushiro was sudden and strong as he spotted them.

"Yo, Ukitake-taichou! Kyouraku-taichou!" Ikkaku greeted with a wave of his hand.

"Good morning, Kyouraku-taichou," Yumichika added with one of his famous smiles, practically beaming at Shunsui.

Dark eyes narrowed as Jyuushiro practically sneered, a low growl echoing in his throat before he could stop it. His reiatsu flared, and a few nearby pedestrians froze at the pressure, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Several slowly sank to the ground, trying their best to stay conscious. And one poor woman actually fainted dead away, not that anyone noticed.

Yumichika flinched, chills shooting down his spine as he tried his best not to gasp for air. "Ukitake-taichou?"

The white-haired captain ignored him entirely, instead choosing to grab his friend by the arm. "Come, Shunsui, we've a meeting to attend," he said stiffly, hurriedly pulling the other man with him.

"Goodbye, Ayasegawa-san," Shunsui managed to get out, tipping his hat as he was yanked away and feeling his best buddy glaring daggers at him.

Left behind, Ikkaku blinked in surprise. He had been completely overlooked.

"What was that 'bout?" he questioned, feeling rather relieved when the two captains departed. For a moment there, it had been like being around Zaraki-taichou without the eyepatch, only not quite as bloody.

Yumichika slowly shook his head, recovering from the overwhelming reiatsu. "I honestly don't know," he replied, watching with widened eyes as the two captains disappeared.

"You steal his boyfriend or somethin'?" Ikkaku continued, racking his brain for all of the possible reasons behind what had just happened.

"Not that I can recall." Yumichika was just as stumped, having no idea what had just occurred.

"Weird."

"Yes, I agree."

* * *

a/n: Slowly but surely, I am getting these requests out. If you're on the list, I promise, they will come eventually. If not, make a suggestion and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for all your support! Enjoy! 


	45. Who's Your Daddy?

**Title: Who's Your Daddy?  
Characters: Renji, Ichigo, Ishida, Some OC's  
Rating: K  
Warning: Crack. C'mon I know some of you guys had this thought!  
Words: 734  
Description: Some rumors were worth dying for, at least in Rukia's opinion. **

* * *

When all of the girls at Ichigo's school had come up to him, cooing about how cute he was and was it true? And awww, couldn't they meet him? Well, Renji had been confused and a bit flustered, but he had preened under the attention. Especially when that pretty one who's name he could never remember offered to make lunch the next day for him and his "bundle of joy." 

Whatever the hell that was.

It wasn't until he had casually mentioned it to Ichigo that the damned substitute Shinigami had explained what it meant.

"Huh?"

Ichigo looked as if he were planning on smacking Renji across the forehead. "You got a kid we don't know about?"

Predictably, the vice captain was flustered. "_No!_" he spluttered.

"Well, they think you do."

"Why'd they think that?" He was practically shouting.

Ichigo scowled and turned on his heels, lest he give in to his urge to hurt his sort-of friend. "How the hell should I know?" he demanded, turning on his heels and walking away, leaving Renji gaping at him.

"Perhaps it has something to do with Jinta."

Renji whirled to find that Quincy brat standing right behind him, calmly pushing up his glasses with one finger to make himself look more threatening. Which didn't actually work since it only made his eyes shiny and forced Renji to tell himself he shouldn't smack the kid's glasses off his face just for the hell of it.

"What 'bout Jinta?" Renji asked suspiciously, thinking none-too-fondly of the loud brat, who may or may not have been Urahara-san's son. Renji still couldn't figure out if he was.

That Quincy pushed up his glasses again, attempting to look smug and righteous. Renji just thought he looked stupid.

"Why don't you ask them?" he said, pointing behind the Shinigami.

Renji whirled yet again and was met with dozens of items of unknown origins thrust into his face. Toys, more than he could count, and stacks of comics, as well as bundles of candy and all sorts of nameless objects dumped themselves into his grasp.

He blinked. "Blugah?" was his intelligent query to the hordes of smiling females in front of him.

One rather pretty girl smiled at him and patted his cheek. "Give them to Jinta-kun," she said sweetly, ignoring the fact that she had been pointedly ignoring his existence just _yesterday_. "I'm sure he'll like them since his daddy probably doesn't have time to buy them for him."

"Mergh?"

The brunette to her right giggled, and Renji switched his attention to her. "It's so sweet," she cooed, sounding strangely like Rangiku-san and causing a scared shiver to race down Renji's back.

He recognized that tone.

"And to think, we thought him a loss," the brunette continued. "Right girls?"

Behind her, most of the female population of Ichigo's school nodded enthusiastically.

Renji was confounded. "What're ya talkin' about?" he asked, having finally found his tongue.

They blinked up at him.

"You, silly," one of them giggled, Chiz-something or other. He couldn't remember her name. "And your son, Jinta-kun."

Renji's eyes tried to leap from his skull before he could catch them and shove them back in. He flailed in shock, throwing gifts and candies in all directions.

"What the hell?" he declared, shaking his hands in front of his body. "No!"

The brunette pouted. "You mean, Jinta-kun isn't the product of an illicit love affair between you and the woman you couldn't have because your parents were at odds with one another and refused to grant permission for marriage, which is why you moved here and stay with your uncle, who helps you take care of him?" she asked, managing to say it all in one breath. "I mean, we can see the resemblance."

"No!" Renji denied again, shooting her a very strange look and backing away from the madness with one thought in mind.

He was going to kill Rukia. Maim her. Fillet her. Choke her until she turned blue.

It had to have been her. It was the sort of thing that would amuse her greatly, especially since it was at his expense. Never mind that it was a cruel, cruel thing to do to someone.

Before any more stuffed animals or candies or food – well, he would keep that freshly made takoyaki – Renji turned and fled out the door ignoring their cries of dismay.

Screw friendship. Rukia was going to die.

* * *

a/n: Two updates in a week! Woo! This is because I'm so far ahead of myself that I feel I can bring you a bit ahead. I hope you enjoyed! Look forward to more. Thanks! 


	46. Rukia's Dating Service Ukitake Take 1

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Ukitake Jyuushiro (Take One)  
Characters: Ichigo, Rukia, Ukitake Jyuushiro, Shunsui, Mentions of Others  
Rating: T  
****Warning: Near-misses and almost-kisses.  
Words:**** 1,919  
Description: He was so close. He could feel the man's breath upon his lips.**

* * *

  
Ichigo pulled his pillow over his head tighter and wondered if he could suffocate himself to death. Which made him wonder if he could die and what would happen if he did. Would he automatically be a Shinigami? Or a Hollow? Or some strange mixture of both that invariably meant monster? A part of him half-wanted to test it out if only to escape the _noise_ invading his room that he could not be rid of.

"Ichigo! Ichigo! Ichigo! Ichigo!"

"Dammit, woman!" he roared, throwing the pillow across the room with enough force that it struck Rukia directly in the face, giving him a small measure of satisfaction. "I said no!"

Her hands planted on her hips as she glared at him, the pillow making its quick descent to the floor. Even one foot was tapping impatiently. One of her many quirks that made Ichigo want to strangle her on many occasions.

He glared back, but as always, it wasn't quite as effective.

"You said that the last four times, and you went anyway," she reminded him, nonplussed as to his anger. "Besides, this time is different."

Ichigo placed his hand over his face and groaned. He was doomed to suffer her presence the rest of his life; he could see it now. Rukia, harping over him until he was a wizened old man, provided he managed to live that long. He would never escape from her.

Wham! Something struck him in the face. It might have been his pillow.

"Ichigo!"

He grabbed the stuffed cotton and promptly dragged it over his face, wondering if it would be enough to drown out her voice. It wasn't.

"You don't want to disappoint Ukitake-taichou, do you?" she asked, her tone needling.

Despite himself, Ichigo felt his ears perk. "Ukitake-san?" he repeated, tugging down the pillow to eye her warily.

"He's been looking forward to talking with you." She nodded sagely, looking quite proud of herself for having gotten through to him.

Dammit. She always won, the manipulative little bitch. She knew that Ichigo actually respected Ukitake and that he wouldn't mind the white-haired captain so much.

She was _good._

He narrowed his eyes, suddenly having a flashback to the Ikkaku incident. "Does Ukitake-san know this is a date?"

"It's not a date," Rukia chirped innocently.

For some unknown reason, he didn't trust her.

He flopped back down on his bed and turned his back on her, burying his head beneath the pillow once more. "Fine," he muttered, his voice muffled from the cotton. "But no more after this."

"Okay!" she agreed and promptly crossed her fingers behind her back, a trick that Karin had taught her not long ago.

Che. Ichigo should have known better.

* * *

When Ichigo stepped through the Seikaimon, Ukitake was waiting for him on the other side, his third-seats noticeably absent. He immediately realized that the captain wasn't dressed in his Shinigami garb but actually in a dark green haori and hakama with white underneath. It was a nice change.

"Good evening, Kurosaki-kun," the man greeted him with a smile, looking genuinely pleased to see Ichigo.

It made things a lot less awkward.

"Hey, Ukitake-san," Ichigo responded, stepping out of the gate completely and falling into line beside the captain. "How are you?"

"Fine, actually. And yourself.?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Training a lot."

"Ah, that is to be expected," Ukitake responded kindly, tucking a stray strand of white hair behind his ear. "Any luck in learning kidoh?"

With a sheepish grin, Ichigo rubbed the back of his head. "Eh, not really."

"Don't worry. Kuchiki-taichou had problems with some in his time as well," the older Shinigami responded almost musingly. "I'm sure that I could give you a few pointers."

"That would be great. Thanks."

And truly, Ichigo was grateful. He was pretty strong and used to just bashing his way through battles, but it wouldn't hurt to be able to suddenly throw some kidoh at his enemies. At the very least, it would be a surprise.

"My pleasure."

It was the most normal conversation Ichigo had had in a long time. Well, besides the one he had had with Kira, but he didn't want to think about that at the moment. Nevertheless, it was greatly refreshing, and he found himself relaxing even further.

"If you don't mind," Ukitake began, almost sounding... hesitant. "There happens to be a fireworks show tonight. and I thought you might be interested in watching it."

Well, it had been a while since he had seen one. Not since before he had to break his way into Soul Society to save Rukia. Huh, it seemed like so long ago now that he thought about it.

"Kurosaki-kun?"

Ichigo blinked and shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That's fine," he answered.

The captain smiled, and the two soon found themselves in a rather secluded area, overlooking the place where the presumed fireworks would soon take place. Sitting down in the grass where it was faintly dark and rather quiet, Ichigo relaxed, feeling the pressure and the recent stress gradually melt away.

"I hear the Shibas are in charge of it this year," Ukitake-san said conversationally once they were both rather comfortable. "It's kind of a tradition here… the fireworks show, I mean. Ever since one young brat got it into his head that Seireitei needed to liven up a little." He chuckled at that.

Ichigo lifted a brow, actually interested. "A brat?" he asked.

The man nodded. "Yes, Yamamoto Isshin," he explained, thinking fondly of his lost comrade. "Both he and his mischievous friend, Urahara Kisuke."

The substitute Shinigami blinked. "Yamamoto _Isshin_?" he repeated.

"Yes, you wouldn't know him," Ukitake stated, noticing but misunderstanding the inflection in Ichigo's voice. "He died before you were born. He was the captain of the sixth division before Kuchiki-taichou."

Ichigo, frankly, was stunned into silence. There was no way. It was impossible. But then again, the signs were _there_. His own freakishly strong spiritual power. His father and geta-boushi seemingly knowing each other beforehand. Urahara not surprised to see him in the slightest.

He wondered how he didn't figure it out sooner.

In his shock, Ichigo almost missed what Ukitake said next.

"Anyway, it was Isshin and Kisuke-chan who started the fireworks festival, and even in their absence, it continues. Of course, they had a little help from Yoruichi back then."

It kept getting weirder and weirder.

"Yoruichi, too?" he asked, unable to help the incredulity in his voice. Suddenly, he wondered with strange glee, if he would finally have something to tease her about rather than the other way around.

Ukitake smiled briefly. "You should ask her sometime about the taiyaki incident. See what she says. I swear, we thought for a long time that they would never mature." He paused, eyes growing a little dim. "And now, not a one of them is here."

Ichigo struggled to change the subject, wondering what else he could get the man to tell him that wouldn't remind him of sad memories. "Do you have any amusing stories you could tell me, Ukitake-san?" he asked softly.

The captain tilted his head to the side. "I think it's all right if you call me Jyuushiro, Kurosaki-kun," he suggested, tucking a lock of white hair behind his ear.

Ichigo couldn't help but grin, and eventually, Uki…Jyuushiro launched into several accounts and tales that he knew, some of them even relating to a few captains that Ichigo vowed to use later. Ones about Byakuya, for instance.

The substitute Shinigami found himself having a pleasant, normal time. It was a first in these meetings that Rukia had been setting up. He thought, in that moment, that maybe it wasn't so bad after all. And a small, very tiny, part of him was even thanking her.

Beside him, Jyuushiro chuckled as he finished the last of his story. "He never even realized it was all an elaborate scheme concocted by Kisuke-chan until the last minute. Of course, by then, everyone in Seireitei knew. It was all anyone talked about for _months_."

If Ichigo hadn't heard it from Jyuushiro's mouth, he might not have ever believed such a story about Aizen. He laughed at the thought, an amused smile on his lips.

The two of them fell silent then and Ichigo suddenly felt eyes on him. He shifted his gaze to find that Jyuushiro was watching him intently. But it wasn't uncomfortable, just... contemplative. As if he was considering something.

"The fireworks should be starting soon," the man murmured, but he wasn't looking at the sky. He was looking at Ichigo.

An uncertain, but not entirely unwelcome, flutter began in Ichigo's belly at the gaze. It was... wanting.

Was Jyuushiro going to kiss him? Gazing into the man's dark eyes, it was the only conclusion that Ichigo could come to. He had thought it wasn't supposed to be a date, but considering Rukia, he should have known better. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't like Jyuushiro.

The anticipation was heavy in the air, so much that he could almost taste it. He heard Jyuushiro lean closer, the captain's breath ghosting across his lips. Ichigo unconsciously tilted his head upwards to give the man better access, and his eyes fluttered shut. He distantly realized that the man's hair was tickling his face but didn't really care as Jyuushiro's nose brushed his, and Ichigo felt something oh-so-lightly touch his lips--

"Jyuu-chan!"

Despite the fact that they were in Soul Society, his first thought was that his father had somehow followed him. His instincts kicked in and he promptly flailed, accidentally knocking Ukitake across the chin in his fear and sending the captain reeling.

"Goat-Face!" Ichigo screeched in terror, eyes popping open as he scuttled backwards, staring in horror at the intruder. He belatedly realized that it was not, in fact, his father but someone else. He reluctantly calmed down.

"Jyuu-chan! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" the intruder continued, grinning as he set himself between the two of them, seemingly oblivious to Ichigo's racing heart or body poised to attack.

Ukitake Jyuushiro sighed, looking very disappointed as he idly rubbed his chin where Ichigo had struck him. "Shunsui," he said reprimandingly. "Have you no shame?"

"Now, you ought to know the answer to that, lover-boy," the man in the outrageously pink haori answered with a wink, settling himself comfortably and promptly pulling a sake jug from who knows where. It was then that he seemed to notice Ichigo. "Yo, Ichigo-kun, want some sake?" He wiggled the jug in the substitute Shinigami's direction.

Ichigo blinked. "I'm not old enough to drink."

He was waved off, as if that particular rule was of no importance. "It's a fireworks show. Live a little."

The white-haired Shinigami sighed again. "Shunsui, can't you see that you're interrupting something here?" he asked slowly, something almost like annoyance, or perhaps even anger, in his voice.

Ichigo reddened a bit at the reminder. "No, that's okay," he mumbled under his breath.

Shunsui didn't even seem to notice. "Not in the slightest," he countered jovially. "Now, why don't we enjoy the fireworks, hmm?"

"Shunsui--"

Jyuushiro opened his mouth to argue, but just then the sky lit up with colors and sounds, instantly diverting their attention from the matter at hand. The brunet captain cheered and saluted the show, hat tipping back as he stared up at the darkened horizon.

Jyuushiro shook his head, and his eyes met Ichigo's around the unexpected intruder. "I apologize," he said. "Perhaps another time?"

Honestly, Ichigo really should have expected that something like this would happen. He smiled.

"Sure," he replied, turning his eyes back to the fireworks.

After all, he couldn't blame Ukitake for having an outrageous friend; he had several of his own.

"Another time."

-----

a/n: I assure you! There's plenty more to come. This is only 46 of the 69 I've written with more ideas building up. Thanks for reading!


	47. Biting the Bullet

**Title: Biting the Bullet  
Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Byakuya/Ichigo, Ukitake, Shunsui, Mentions of Others  
Rating: T  
Words: 1,637  
Warning: Implied Yaoi, OOC  
Description: There comes a time in every man's life when he has to suck it up and ask life's age old question: "How do I have sex with my boyfriend?". Part of the "Never Been Kissed Series", Drabbles 1, 9, 34, 42 which are not in any particular order. **

* * *

Byakuya had a dilemma.

Worse than that, he had an embarrassing dilemma that wasn't easily solved. It wasn't often that the Kuchiki heir admitted ineptitude in any matter, but this time he realized that he had no choice but to swallow his pride. If he ever wanted to have sex again, preferably with his boyfriend, then he was going to have to seek advice.

He supposed he _could_ leave the matter to Ichigo and stoically pretend that he was not inexperienced or even slightly afraid of that fact. But as the older, more mature partner in their relationship… and probably the one with the most raging hormones given his fifty years of unexpected abstinence, it was up to him to find out all the answers. Not to mention, Ichigo was one of the most prudish men Byakuya had ever met and would never survive the sheer mortification involved in asking someone the mechanics behind homosexual copulation.

It was easier for Byakuya to think about it if he tried to maintain a purely scientific mindset. Not that it helped the images, and there were many of them. It made his cheeks heat just to think about it, despite all efforts to tamper down his lecherous thoughts.

With the fate of his unintentional celibacy hanging on the line, Byakuya took a day off work, much to Yamamoto-soutaichou's surprise and Renji's glee, and began his search for advice. To that end, he made his way to the thirteenth division headquarters with his head held as proudly as he could muster. Admittedly, he probably resembled a man heading off to his death. Only his libido granted him the courage to keep going.

Meanwhile, Ukitake Jyuushiro was having a rather good day, filling out paperwork and staunchly ignoring the noise of his third-seats, as well as Shunsui's persistent attempts at cajoling him to skip work and come out to play. He was slightly afraid of what his friend had in mind for "play."

When Byakuya was shown in, looking as uncomfortable as a man like he was capable of, Jyuushiro dismissed his third-seats and set down his brush. He always had time for the younger captain, still holding a soft spot for the man he had mentored those years ago.

"I apologize for the disruption," Byakuya stated hastily, lowering himself to the mat in front of both senior captains. He tried to ignore the hint of embarrassment that was creeping into his expression and fought to maintain his usual impassivity.

Jyuushiro smiled pleasantly, surreptitiously elbowing Shunsui in the side in an effort to make his dearest friend shut up for once. "No need for that," he responded gently. He cleared his throat and tried to make himself comfortable. "To what do we owe this visit?"

Despite his great efforts to appear completely unperturbed, two high spots of color stained Byakuya's cheeks. "I require some advice," he declared rather stiffly, his hands resting on his knees as he attempted not to fidget.

Shunsui lifted a brow. "Advice?" he repeated, ignoring the hushing looks being sent his direction by his best buddy.

He was extremely curious. It wasn't often that the Kuchiki heir asked others for help. Not to mention that Byakuya looked faintly embarrassed, which made it even more interesting in Shunsui's mind. He sat forward in his seat.

Byakuya nodded. "Yes," he responded simply, then fell silent as if the right words had completely failed him. He shifted again, fingers twitching.

Faintly amused, Jyuushiro tried to remain dignified. "About?" he questioned, hoping to prompt his kouhai into finally speaking.

Gathering up all of his dignity, Byakuya took a deep breath. "Sex," he said, though it came out a more of a squeak. He cleared his throat. "Specifically among two men," he added, a bit rushed.

Dead silence.

A cricket chirped.

The two older men gaped, exchanged glances with each other… and stared some more.

Shunsui coughed into his hand.

"I see," Jyuushiro began slowly, obviously grasping for the right words. "And you came to me because…?"

Byakuya's eyes flickered between the two of them, and suddenly, the reasoning became all too clear. Jyuushiro was not surprised. He and Shunsui had been fending off those rumors for _centuries._

The thirteenth division captain sighed. "Byakuya-kun," he began as politely and kindly as he could. "We're not gay. We've never--"

"Why does everyone think that?" Shunsui cut in with a shake of his head as he sat back in his seat. "We're just friends. Is that a crime?"

The blush that Byakuya had been fighting the entire time won its pursuit of victory and blossomed into a full scarlet bloom onto his face. He fidgeted again.

"I didn't know," he said, feeling absolutely mortified. The Kuchiki heir desperately wished that Aizen would suddenly and randomly choose to attack.

Great. Not only was his secret out, but he had offended two of the oldest and most senior captains in Seireitei. Perhaps there was a reason men like him deserved to be celibate.

Sensing that his former kouhai was becoming distressed, Jyuushiro sought to calm him down. "Have you tried speaking to Unohana-taichou?" he suggested gently, thinking if anything, a healer should have some sort of knowledge in that regards.

But by the look on Byakuya's face, it was clear the Kuchiki heir did not consider that even a blip on his scale of possibilities. It was embarrassing enough to ask two men he had already thought were gay. There was no way in Hueco Mundo he was going to ask _Unohana._Even if it was probably the wisest thing to do.

"Is there anyone else?" Byakuya managed to bite out through clenched teeth. At this point, he was taking any and all suggestions... except Unohana.

After all, he was socially awkward, not socially stupid. There was a difference.

Shunsui grinned, an idea occurring to him. "Well, you could always ask Sousuke-kun. He's been rumored to dabble," he commented thoughtfully, remembering the only rumor to rival the one of he and his Jyuu-chan in longevity. "But since he's in Hueco Mundo... well, that adds a whole new level of difficulty."

Byakuya actually considered it. His libido practically screamed for him to; otherwise, another dreadful fifty years would pass before he saw any end to his half-intentional and half-not celibacy. Finally, the sixth division captain sighed and rose to his feet, brushing invisible dust from his hakama.

"I see. I apologize for the mistake."

Jyuushiro waved off the apology. "Perhaps if Shunsui wasn't so flamboyant with his choice in wear, it would happen less often," he remarked around a sip of tea, shooting his oldest and dearest friend a pointed look.

"I'll have you know that I am by far the manliest of us, Jyuu-chan," Shunsui replied with fake insult, lazily tossing a balled up piece of parchment in Ukitake's direction.

The white-haired captain ducked smoothly, and it sailed ineffectually over his head. He regarded his companion thoughtfully, a retort on his lips, but Byakuya didn't stick around to hear it. The conversation was quickly degrading into another one of their more famous debates, and while interesting, he had more important things to do.

He slipped out of the office, leaving the sounds of their banter behind him, and contemplated as to what he should do next. The fourth division was absolutely out of the question, and while he had the suspicion that Ayasegawa from the eleventh was gay, he had no intentions of seeking advice from the flamboyant man.

Torn, Byakuya was beginning to wonder just how hard it was to get into Hueco Mundo and find the missing traitor, act of treason or no. Then again, there was always Aizen's partner in crime from all those rumors Byakuya vaguely remembered hearing about. And it would only take a journey to Karakura to meet with a certain exiled former captain. That was, if he were willing to subject himself to the man's lecherous and likely gossiping nature...

Decisions, decisions.

Hueco Mundo was sounding more and more acceptable by the moment.

Fortunately, before he could even shunpo towards the nearest gate and ask directions, he felt a familiar reiatsu in his vicinity. Unable to stop the anticipatory tremor that attacked his heart, Byakuya immediately headed for a more solitary location to meet his lover… or soon to be lover since they hadn't yet managed to cross that line.

An abandoned courtyard on the outskirts of Seireitei fit their needs perfectly. Byakuya appeared in a flit of shunpo just seconds before Ichigo landed right next to him, a grin splitting his face. It made the sixth division captain just a bit wary.

"My idiot dad might be worth something after all," Ichigo said, waving an unidentified object in front of Byakuya as he drew nearer to his boyfriend.

Silver eyes watched the movement of what appeared to a book with colorful, if not cartoonish, pictures drawn on the cover. He was not impressed.

"A comic?" he questioned, lifting one imperious brow.

Gaze darting surreptitiously around as if to confirm they were alone, Ichigo still wasn't that good at sensing reiatsu, the substitute Shinigami pulled an unsuspecting Byakuya into his arms in a very undignified manner.

"Not just any comic," he replied smugly. "But a shounen-ai manga."

Byakuya was still very much confused. "Explain," he demanded.

Fingers dancing up his back, pressing against Byakuya's spine in a very teasing manner, Ichigo's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Better yet. I'll show you," he murmured, and closed the space between them before the captain could even put up an argument. Not that he tried very hard.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

Byakuya's libido gave a ragged cheer of glee.

After all, he had taken the _entire_day off from work.

-----

a/n: -cackles with glee- There's something so delicious about mortifying Byakuya-bo! I simply love to do it. -le sigh- Reward me with reviews and I will reward you with ficcage! And go! Vote in my poll! I'm here, wiling away at my computer, writing more and more drabbles and even a few side pieces not being posted in this series but as separate one-shots. All this alluded Urahara/Aizen finally has a voice. Woot! Annnnnd, I plan on shocking everyone with my pairing in The Darkest Reflection series. -evil snicker-

I have babbled long enough. I hope you enjoyed!


	48. Perfect Every Time

**Title: Perfect Every Time  
Pairing: Unohana Retsu/Kotetsu Isane  
Rating: K  
Warning: Light Yuri  
Words: 317  
Description: It's moments like these that she loves the most.**

She likes these moments the most, even if it takes a knee-shaking nightmare to bring it about.

When her captain lets her climb into bed, rubbing gently down her back, it makes her think of comfort and love. She feels safe wrapped in the warmth left behind by Retsu's body heat. The terror of her nightmares drift away, and she can finally fall asleep in peace.

Isane loves snuggling down next to her captain, bodies pressed together and sharing the soft embrace of the blanket. She likes to trail her fingers down Retsu's bare arm as it wraps around her, hearing the quiet chuckle of her lover behind her.

She thinks that there's no other place that she would rather be, than there in her arms. There's no place safer, no place where she's more loved and cherished. And she wishes she doesn't ever have to crawl back into her own empty bed, even if she understands that it is an occasional necessity.

She enjoys waking first in the morning, watching Retsu's sleeping face and wondering what her dear captain dreams of. She loves it when she wakes up second, and Retsu already has tea brewed for them, something new and fruity made just the way she likes it. Perfect every time.

Isane thinks every morning when she wakes up that this will be the day she says those words. They both already know it, the emotion practically glowing in their eyes and the warmth of their smiles. But still, it is nice to hear it every once in a while.

Isane opens her eyes, looks into her lovers', and says to herself, _This is the day I will say it.' _

But then, Retsu kisses her, and the words flit away to the back of her mind. Not that she minds too terribly.

After all, it's moments like these that she loves the most. Even without the words.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading! And big thanks to everyone for their continued support! Believe me when I say there's plenty more to come! 


	49. Motivation for Murder

**Title: Motivation for Murder  
Characters: Rukia, Ukitake, Ichigo, Renji, Hitsugaya, Shunsui, Mentions of Others  
Rating: T  
Warning: Implied Violence, Implied Yaoi, OOC, Vague Spoilers for Arrancar Arc  
Words: 2,150  
Description: Sometimes even a little help goes too far.**

* * *

"You know, people want to kill you quite often," Ukitake Jyuushiro commented as he sipped calmly at the cup of warm and soothing tea that Kiyone had brought to him not a few moments earlier. "What do you do that is so terrible?"

The captain idly watched Abarai Renji walk hurriedly by his office looking quite perturbed and red in the face. His jaw was set in a determined expression, and if Jyuushiro had to guess, the man was out for blood. Or something close to it. 

From beneath his desk, a body shifted. A nervous laugh bubbled up, trying to sound certain but failing miserably. 

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," Rukia answered flippantly, huddling even further in the small space. "All in their best interest, I assure you." 

Jyuushiro hummed in his throat noncommittally and took another sip of his tea. Somehow, he didn't believe her. It probably came with the territory of being her captain. 

And in that moment, Kurosaki Ichigo chose to storm into Ukitake's office in a swirl of embarrassed and angered reiatsu. "Ukitake-san," he growled, though obviously trying to make an effort to be polite and struggling since he was so furious. "Is Rukia around?"

Presenting the perfect picture of placidity, Jyuushiro sipped once more at his drink and tried to ignore the reiatsu shaking his walls. "I haven't _seen_ her for some time, Kurosaki-kun. Have you misplaced her?" 

The boy's brow furrowed deeply, making the glower lines usually present even deeper. "No," he denied somewhat stiffly. "But could you please tell her that if I catch her, she's dead meat?" 

Despite the informality of the words, Ukitake was mildly amused. With another probing glance around the office, as if Rukia would be hiding behind the nearest painting or underneath the couch, the substitute Shinigami gave a jerk of his head in farewell and darted back out, obviously returning to the hunt. And breathing with a sigh of relief at the oppressive presence having now departed, Jyuushiro raised a brow in Rukia's direction. 

"The date must have gone badly," she mused to herself aloud, pondering deeply. "Back to the drawing board, I suppose." 

Despite the situation, or maybe because of it, Ukitake found himself chuckling. "Date?" 

However, before she could even begin to answer his question, Abarai-fukutaichou stomped past his office once again, this time choosing to enter on the off chance that Rukia might be within. His reiatsu was more tightly contained than Ichigo's but not by much, and the thirteenth division captain could tell at a glance that he was equally perturbed as the substitute Shinigami, if not more.

"Excuse me, Ukitake-taichou," Renji stated somewhat stiffly, trying to maintain his politeness as propriety demanded. "Have ya seen Rukia?" He was red-faced, clashing horribly with his hair, and the look in his eyes promised a long and painful death. 

Ukitake was impressed. Regardless, the captain had the unfortunate realization that he might be stuck doing this all day. After all, Renji was only the _fourth_ visit since breakfast. 

Kuchiki-taichou had come by earlier that morning looking for his sister. He hadn't explained why, and his impassive expression didn't give away much, but Jyuushiro got the impression that it wasn't to say good morning. 

Not long after Byakuya's departure, Madarame Ikkaku had come to visit as well, which had surprised the white-haired man since he hadn't much interaction with the eleventh division. But the third-seat had been perfectly polite, if not a little off-color, inquiring about Rukia's location. He had mumbled something about flyers for hair implants and knowing it was her because Ayasegawa-san wasn't smug enough before apologizing for the disturbance and leaving, his reiatsu simmering with anger. 

No, this wouldn't be the first time Ukitake Jyuushiro had protected his dear subordinate. 

"Not for awhile. Is something wrong, Abarai-fukutaichou?" 

Renji shook his head, visibly trying to control himself. "Nothing ta concern yerself over, Ukitake-taichou. Thanks anyway." He bowed and turned on his heels, quickly leaving the room. 

It was then that Jyuushiro noticed the faint limp and stiffness to the vice-captain's movements. He returned his eyes to the woman marked for murder. 

She laughed. "It's not my fault," Rukia attempted to assure him. "No one told me she had a boyfriend." 

"I see," Jyuushiro commented, wondering just who else Rukia had offended lately. 

He received his answer moments later when his fellow Shirou-chan strode into his office, burdened down with a huge sack that was practically bulging at the seams. The boy's typical scowl was in place as he set the bag down with a large thump on top of Ukitake's desk, nearly scattering his paperwork were it not for the older captain's quick movements. 

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" he exclaimed in both surprise and happiness. He was always delighted to receive a visit from his second favorite captain. "What is this?" 

Bright blue eyes narrowed to angry, little slits. "I'm looking for Kuchiki-san," he said stiffly, glaring ocular fire at the bag on Jyuushiro's desk, as if expecting it to combust or ice over with just a look. The bag, seeming to sense its impending doom, gave up on its fight with gravity and promptly tipped over onto the floor with a dull thud. 

Ukitake sighed. No surprise there. 

"Might I inquire as to why?" 

Hitsugaya crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, even more surly than usual. "She's left the human females in Kurosaki's school with the impression that I adore sweets." 

With every word, Jyuushiro could feel a slight chill creeping into the air. His eyes darted to the sack, able to guess what was inside. 

"That was nice of them," Jyuushiro mused aloud, nearly forgetting who he was talking to. When his fellow captain directed that icy glare onto him, he quickly corrected his words. "I mean, how rude of them to offer such gifts. But unfortunately, I haven't _seen_ Rukia for several hours. I'll tell her that you are looking for her when I do."

With great effort, Hitsugaya found polite words. "I would appreciate it," he said through clenched teeth, promptly turning on his heels and leaving without another word. 

It took several seconds for Jyuushiro to realize that the boy had inadvertently, or perhaps on purpose, forgotten his immense bag of candy. The man opened his mouth to question Rukia on this particular event until he was interrupted by a loud call echoing across the thirteenth division headquarters. 

"Jyuuuuuu-chaaaaaaan!"

Ukitake sighed as there was the sound of feet pounding across the wooden floors. He set down his tea, lest he spill it in the glomping he was sure to expect, and awaited the approach of his oldest and dearest friend. 

"Jyuu-chan!" 

Shunsui appeared in his doorway, missing an eyebrow and appearing quite scorched. The end of his captain's robe was blackened and ragged, and his usual pink haori was noticeably absent. His hair was frazzled, and even his hat seemed to have a few charred holes in it. 

"Shunsui!" Jyuushiro exclaimed in surprise, blinking. "Whatever happened to you?"

The other man was immensely relieved at seeing his best friend. He did a double take at the huge bag of candy and was about to question it when he remembered just why he had come here in the first place. He hobbled into the office, missing one sandal, and leaned heavily against Ukitake's desk, smelling burnt and looking in desperate need of a good drink. 

"Jyuu-chan, you haven't perhaps seen dear Rukia-chan today, have you?" 

"Why?" The white-haired male somehow wasn't surprised. 

Shunsui sighed heavily, an unusual sound for him. "Well, you see, Nanao-chan is under the mistaken impression that I..." he trailed off as he cleared his throat noisily before continuing. "Never mind what she thinks I did. The point is, I know it wasn't me but in fact something orchestrated by dear, _sweet __**Rukia-chan**_." The last came out growled and through visibly clenched teeth. 

Jyuushiro was shocked by the vehemence and put just a few inches of space between he and his homicidal friend. "I see," he said somewhat breathlessly. "I'm sure if you just talk to Ise-fukutaichou, she will forgive you and listen to reason." 

The other captain didn't look as if he thought this were at all possible. "I don't believe it's that easy, Jyuu-chan." He stood up and tried to restore his state to something resembling dignity, looking mournfully down at himself. "She took my favorite haori and did unspeakable things to it." 

There was a muffled noise from beneath Ukitake's desk which might have been laughter. Jyuushiro himself raised a brow, wondering what Shunsui would ever qualify as "unspeakable." 

Coughing into his sleeve to disguise his own peal of laughter, Jyuushiro carefully schooled his face into something much more serious. "Now, Shunsui, it can't be that terrible. I suggest apologizing and perhaps getting some of your work done. That should appease your lovely vice-captain." 

His dearest friend looked positively pained at the thought of having to remain awake and sober long enough to do his own paperwork. He debated the virtues of doing either, even going so far as to dance from foot to foot, before his shoulders slumped and a look of pathetic defeat crossed his features. His lips even pouted in a fashion that Jyuushiro found endearing, even after all these years. 

"I suppose you're right," Shunsui acquiesced with such a depressed, heavy sigh that Ukitake was once more forced to disguise his chuckle as a cough, and if anyone had knew how often he had done that over the years, they wouldn't think he was sick at all. 

Instead, the thirteenth division captain nodded sagely. "Of course, I am. Now, I believe your vice-captain is awaiting an apology." He sipped at his tea and regarded his companion over the cup.

Shunsui tipped his head in goodbye, hand touching the brim of his hat, before he shuffled out dejectedly, acting like a man being led to his doom. It was so very amusing that Jyuushiro couldn't hide the twinkle in his eyes. He exhaled exasperatedly and looked down at his subordinate. 

"I'm not going to get any work done today at this rate," he declared, deciding in that moment he did not want to know what she had done to Shunsui. 

She patted his knee in thanks. "That should be the last of them," Rukia responded, pursing her lips as she thought deeply. "For today, at least. I'll just slip out your window and be on my way." 

Skeptical, Jyuushiro nonetheless slid out of the way and let her clamber out from under his desk, inwardly vowing that this was absolutely the last time. "In the future, perhaps you could practice a bit more discretion in your attempts to aid others." 

"Of course," she said with a big smile and a nod of her head, failing to look the least bit contrite as she hefted herself onto the ledge of his window. "Thank you, Ukitake-taichou." 

"You're welcome, but this is the final time." 

She didn't even argue as she jumped out of the window and landed outside with barely a sound. He returned his attention to his work, which had not been touched since that morning when Rukia had rushed in and had begged him to hide her. And Jyuushiro had just managed to pick up his pen and read the first symbol when the sound of a terrified squeak floated to his ears, as well as the noise of many knuckles being cracked. His lips quirked into a smirk. 

So they had found her, after all. 

"Ukitake-taichou!" Rukia squeaked. "Help me!" 

In his office, Ukitake Jyuushiro chuckled under his breath and pretended that he couldn't hear. He hummed to himself and inwardly cheered them on, calmly moving on to the next line in his long overdue paperwork. He couldn't exactly trust Kiyone and Sentarou to it. 

After all, he had been none too pleased to open his mail last week, only to discover naked pictures of Kurosaki-kun, Abarai-fukutaichou, Kuchiki-taichou, and several others. One of Rukia's attempts to find him a date. Still, it wouldn't have been so bad if Kiyone hadn't been standing there at that very moment, looking over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of every single picture. His third-seat had then gleefully offered to help him find true love, if that was where his interests lied, her eyes gleaming with evidence of fangirlism.

Jyuushiro had the distinct feeling that he'd never live it down, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he heard a high-pitched shriek and a rather odd thump just beyond his window. The captain leaned back in his seat, smiling to himself and thinking of the very same pictures that were even now tucked away in a secret drawer of his desk, and there was a second, more muted screech outside followed by blessed silence.

Life was good.

-----

a/n: Just a bit of humour to brighten your day! I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading and I've plenty more to come. Look forward to the next... Saturday maybe? If I'm not working, I'll have time to post it. And I'm hard at work at those requests, I promise! 


	50. Blissfully Unaware

**Title: Blissfully Unaware  
****Characters: Shuuhei, Ikkaku, Renji, Yumichika****  
Rating: T****  
Warning: None****  
Words: 1,136  
Description: He's ridiculously good looking and doesn't even notice. Somewhat sequel to **_**It Seems to be Catching**_**  
Dedication: To loyal fan Helios82 who requested a **_**long**_** time ago a Shuuhei piece. Here it is, finally. Sorry its so late. **

* * *

It was worse than usual today, Shuuhei noted with some annoyance. They were staring again, and one woman had even giggled as he passed. He had checked the mirror, but there was nothing on his face or in his teeth. His uniform was clean. Maybe his hair could stand to be brushed but nothing to warrant their behavior.

He didn't understand it at all.

Every time he looked up from his desk, nearly tearing his hair out in frustration over the heaps and heaps of paperwork he hadn't even begun to put a dent into, he could feel their eyes on him. A small part of him thought that maybe he was being pitied, and it was slightly irksome. If they were so sympathetic, they should come give him a damn hand with the paperwork and save their understanding.

With a sigh, Shuuhei forced himself to calm down. He was overreacting far too much over a little bit of staring. It must have been the stress getting to him. After all, Soul Society was down three captains at the moment and was faced with a crisis. It was only logical that he would be just the slightest bit disquieted.

It was for that reason, and many others he didn't care to contemplate, that he allowed Yumichika, Renji, and Ikkaku to drag him out of the stuffy office late that evening. Izuru and Kurosaki-kun were elsewhere, doing Kami-sama only knows what, probably things that Shuuhei never wanted to know.

Ever.

As he contemplated his missing companions, Shuuhei frowned moodily and swirled the alcohol in its cup. He watched the liquid slosh around and around, debated drinking it, before tipping the cup back and swallowing the sweet drink. He grimaced as it burned on the way down, though he welcomed it.

"Psh. Kuchiki-taichou knows shunpo _an'_ kidoh!" Renji was arguing in the background, shoving his fist in Ikkaku's face. "He'd kick ass!"

The eleventh division member was unimpressed. "No fuckin' way. Zaraki-taichou can take hella damage!"

"Honestly, boys, have you nothing better to do than to repeat tired arguments?" Yumichika inserted airily, sipping primly at his Pina Coloda because it was _beautiful. _

Tuning them out unconsciously, Shuuhei attempted to relax and cast his eye over the crowds at the bar. It was then that he once more noticed the ever-present staring in his direction. Not just a few women this time but men as well. Stealing glances his direction before hastily returning to their drinks.

A low growl echoed in his throat. "They're doing it again!" he cried exasperatedly, slamming his cup down on the table.

At the bar, several pairs of eyes hurriedly turned away.

Renji and Ikkaku broke off their lengthy discussion of which captain would win in a fair fight only to stare at him and blink in confusion.

"Uhh, doin' what, senpai?" Renji asked, turning towards the other tattooed male.

Shuuhei twisted his jaw, jerking his head towards the bar. "Staring!" he exclaimed in annoyance.

His friends exchanged glances, Ikkaku furrowing his brow, which looked comical when combined with his bald head. "Who?" he questioned, craning his neck to look around. "Someone wanna start a fight?" But he didn't see anyone looking particularly aggressive, just the usual bunch mooning over Shuuhei.

"No," the vice-captain countered, shooting his idiotic friends a disbelieving stare. "The women. They're staring at me again. Like they have been _all day._"

His closest, dearest friends stared at him in amazement for all of a moment.

"He's serious," Renji stated with awe in his tone.

Shuuhei rolled his eyes, moodily downing the rest of his drink.

"But it's so obvious!" Ikkaku declared, shaking his head. "Dude, you're hot!"

Their entire table went silent.

The bald Shinigami quickly corrected himself, "No, you're not. I mean, that's not what I meant to say!"

"Yeah! It's the hair!" Renji added, nodding wisely. "An' the tattoos and the scars. But mostly the tattoos! I should know!" He pointed his thumb at himself, grinning broadly.

"Right! You are, but you're not. Get us?" Ikkaku inserted with a smirk, saluting Shuuhei with his mug of beer.

The dark-haired Shinigami blinked. "Uhh… no."

At the opposite end of the table, Yumichika sighed dramatically and rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, if you would please?"

Both Renji and Ikkaku looked up as Yumichika waved his hand at them. In the understanding that comes from those who have been friends for far too long and knew the consequences of not obeying, both men moved aside. The fifth-seat promptly plopped down – ahem, lowered himself beautifully – into the now empty seat next to Shuuhei. Clearing his throat delicately, Yumichika set his purple gaze on the suddenly nervous vice-captain.

"You see, Hisagi-san. You are what they call a very sexy man. Ridiculously good-looking, if you will," Yumichika explained slowly, one hand patting Shuuhei's.

The vice-captain blinked again. "I am?"

Yumichika grinned, blindingly bright sparkles suddenly dancing around his head and making Shuuhei wince. "We are the beautiful people. Welcome to the club," he chirped.

He was uncertain if he should be proud of that, so he settled for a safe, "Err, thanks?"

The fifth-seat beamed. "Now, you get it." He rose to his feet, patted Shuuhei on the arm once more, and cast a glance at his other, idiotic friends. "Problem solved," he declared before sashaying away with a sway of his hips, presumably to convince one of those at the bar to buy him another drink.

Yumichika never paid for drinks.

Meanwhile, at the table, Ikkaku and Renji exchanged glances before abruptly bursting out into laughter, the bald Shinigami going so far as to beat the table with his fists.

Annoyance quickly replaced bewilderment. "Why are you laughing?" Shuuhei huffed, throwing peanuts at their stupid faces.

Wiping at a pretend tear, Ikkaku gasped out, "Dude, _Yumichika_ just called ya beautiful."

"I can't believe ya didn't realize it before," Renji added with a snort.

He shared another guffaw with Ikkaku before the two of them clinked their mugs and proceeded to gulp down all their alcohol in one fell swoop.

Shuuhei, without his consent, suddenly felt the flames of embarrassment tickle at his cheeks, likely also influenced by the amount of alcohol he had consumed. "I'm not that hot," he mumbled to himself , but even then, he could feel the eyes staring in his direction.

Watching him.

Wanting him.

He could practically feel himself being mentally undressed.

It was unnerving.

The ninth division vice-captain sank lower where he sat, trying to hide behind Renji's hair and Ikkaku's bulk as he idly considered shaving his head and picking fights he couldn't win. After all, it seemed to work for his so-called friends. But no, his pride would never accept such losses.

Damn.

He was doomed.

* * *

a/n: I just love writing Shuuhei. I'll have to do it more often!

I promise, I'm slowly but surely working on those requests. It may take a while, but they will eventually appear. It's simply that this isn't the only story I'm working on. I have two Final Fantasy fictions, three Bleach ficlets, two Bleach epics, one Kingdom Hearts and at least five different original fictions that I'm in the process of writing. Needless to say, it takes a bit of time to give attention to all of them.

Thanks for reading! I look forward to your comments! And be on the look out for _World of Ruin_. It's the companion piece to _Solitary Serenade_ if any of you enjoyed reading that.


	51. Young Again

**Title: Young Again****  
Pairings/Characters: Shunsui, Jyuushiro/Ichigo****  
Rating: K+****  
Warning: Light Yaoi  
Words: 513  
Description: He thinks that his friend has never looked so young, so happy. So very alive.  
Dedication: To my beta, Lady Azar, who adores this pairing. **

* * *

Shunsui watches them together, and he thinks he's never seen anything cuter. He's never seen his friend look so young. He's never seen him so alive. He thinks it's a good thing that Ichigo has come into Jyuu-chan's life, even if his time with his best friend has dwindled a bit.

He doesn't believe any of those rumors that Jyuushiro is only replacing Kaien because Shunsui knows it's not like that. They don't know his buddy like Shunsui does. They can't see the happy gleam in his eyes, a pure kind of joy that could only be found in new love, not old love rekindled in a similar face. Besides, Shunsui knows that Jyuushiro never felt like that for his vice-captain.

They were friends, and they were close, but they weren't like that. Jyuushiro simply trusts easily and loves hard; he needed someone like Kaien to be there for him. It wasn't ever about romance or sex with Kaien. Shunsui knows this because it's the same way with them, and there's never been anything between him and his Jyuu-chan but the closest friendship. Like brothers really. Or long lost twins, who happen to look absolutely nothing alike. They are inseparable, peas in a pod. And in spite of what some people think, that is all there has ever been between them.

Now, Shunsui looks at Ichigo and thinks that this must be what true love looks like, the kind of love where marriage or commitment is a distinct possibility. He believes it's wonderful that he has someone else now to help watch over his best friend, and he doesn't care what the rest of Seireitei thinks. He supports them because he's never seen Jyuushiro younger or happier, even when they were in academy together. And before this, before Ichigo, his friend was never so alive, so free.

He thinks it's cute how they surreptitiously touch each other in public: small, flitting touches that wouldn't be noticed by anyone other than a perceptive guy like himself. He sees the small smiles that slip through Kurosaki's usual scowl. And don't think he doesn't notice how little Jyuushiro coughs now.

Oh, he's still sick. But he's fighting harder. He has more of a motivation to stick around.

Shunsui looks at them, and he smiles to himself. He doesn't mind that he has to share his best friend now, not in the slightest. After all, he promised himself long ago that he would do anything if only to see Jyuushiro smile like this. Maybe there's a little jealousy that he couldn't do it himself, but he likes the Kurosaki boy. He thinks they are a perfect match.

He watches them over the rim of his sake cup, and they don't know he's observing from a distance. He sees a murmured exchange and the light sparkle in his friend's eyes. He sees a man finally forgiving himself for choices he made long ago, and Shunsui grins.

Green eyes follow their movements as they share a brief kiss, hands and fingers intertwining.

It's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

--

a/n: I've been diligently Bleach writing all week. More drabbles, more ficlets, and especially, I've started my full-length fic _Of Violence_ (the description can be found in my author's page). Check out the sequel to _Solitary Seranade_, called _World of Ruin. _It's UraharaxAizen and I'm especially proud of it.

Thanks for reading!


	52. Rukia's Dating Service Yumichika

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Yumichika  
****Pairings/Characters: Ichigo, Yumichika, Rukia****  
Rating: T  
Warning: None  
Words: 1302  
Description: In which Ichigo learns he has two left feet and an unshakable crush on a certain blond vice-captain. **

* * *

The music was loud and throbbing, pulsing through his veins and reverberating in his ears. It was techno, a heavy dance beat, and yet strangely, it was beautiful, according to Yumichika. Ichigo wasn't quite sure what to think of it himself. It was the first time he had ever stepped foot into a club, especially with the aid of his handy-dandy "Shiba Kaien" ID card.

The substitute Shinigami found himself shrinking against the wall, trying to blend into the shadows since most of the lights were directed onto the dance floor. The throb of people flailing their limbs to the beat was causing the floor to shake. The masses were a wave of motion, and he had absolutely no desire to wade his way into the tide.

His date, however, had other plans in mind.

Pressing a cold glass into his hand, Yumichika sidled up to his side. "Drink this," the fifth-seat practically shouted, trying to be overheard over the loud music. "You'll like it."

Ichigo glanced dubiously at the brightly-colored liquid. It looked as if it would rot his teeth with sugar and send him into an alcohol-induced coma all at the same time. He held it between his fingers with the same uncertain distaste he would a photograph of a nude woman. No interest whatsoever.

A finger prodded him in the side. "Drink it," Yumichika urged again, smiling with his cheeks attractively flushed as he sipped delicately at his own fruity concoction.

Hesitantly, Ichigo raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. The flavor exploded over his tongue, not as bad as he thought. It was tolerable, he supposed. Yumichika hovered at his side, watching him with those piercing purple eyes, as if he felt owed some sort of response.

The substitute Shinigami shrugged. "Good."

Yumichika beamed, complete with sparkle action. Ichigo still hadn't figured out how the man managed to conjure glitter out of thin air. Perhaps that was his zanpakutou's special ability.

"Great!" Yumichika chirped and suddenly grabbed his arm, flouncing forward and dragging the boy along with him. "Let's dance!"

He said that as if Ichigo had a choice in the matter when it was absolutely clear that he didn't. The substitute Shinigami didn't even bother to protest as he fought to maintain a hold on his drink, the liquid sloshing out over his fingers. Yumichika weaved through the press of people with amazing dexterity, somehow managing to make it to the middle within moments.

It made Ichigo wonder how he had gotten into this mess in the first place. Ironically enough, it wasn't entirely Rukia's fault. She hadn't even asked him first this time, after all, only casually making a statement to Yumichika. The fifth-seat, however, had taken it as a suggestion.

He should have known something was up when the door bell had rung and he had answered it to find Yumichika standing outside.

"_Yumichika-san?" Ichigo stated with some surprise. _

_The man beamed with that smirking laugh he seemed to have perfected. "Ichigo-kun!" Yumichika exclaimed. "Right on time. Let's go." _

_Ichigo blinked at the seemingly random statement and opened his mouth to respond. Yet, sensing the impending question with an instinct that surpassed any bloodhound, Yumichika darted forward, clamping his fingers around the substitute Shinigami's wrist. Ichigo grunted as he was propelled out the door with a strength that belied his companion's slim form. _

"_Wait? Wha--" he began ever so eloquently as he stumbled along after the other man. "Where are we going? And why?" _

_Yumichika looked over his shoulder, giving Ichigo a glance that clearly stated just how dumb he thought that question was. "On a date, silly." _

"_A date," Ichigo repeated flatly, throwing an accusing glare over his shoulder towards the_ female_ gamely waving goodbye from his front door. _

"_Have fun!" Rukia called out, flicking her fingers at him before stepping back inside his house and shutting the door. _

_It was a waste of energy to get angry with the bitch. It rolled off her back like water, as if she were immune to his fury._

A hand suddenly plucked Ichigo's drink from his hand, dragging him from his memory. It was Yumichika, the fifth-seat already beginning to move his body to the music. The boy couldn't figure out where his unfinished glass had gone. Around them, the music abruptly changed to another song, though considering the beat was the same, Ichigo couldn't really tell the difference.

"Dance," Yumichika urged. "You're thinking too much."

He made it sound so easy. But to the substitute Shinigami, who had never danced in public a day in his life, he had nowhere to begin. Awkwardly, he shifted his feet a little, trying to get a feel for the rhythm. The press of people was getting thicker, causing him to edge nearer to Yumichika. The fifth-seat didn't seem to mind, sidling closer and moving with his own special sort of grace.

The good thing about the loud, pulse-pounding music was that it negated the need for conversation. One was likely to grow hoarse simply asking their date's favorite foods or movies. In any case, it allowed Ichigo's mind to wander.

He idly wondered, in the midst of it all, if Izuru liked to dance. The multitudes of people and noise didn't seem like something that would suit the third division vice-captain, but then again, he was friends with Renji and most likely Ikkaku and Yumichika by proxy. He was probably used to loud things.

It was with a faint blush that Ichigo realized he wouldn't mind seeing Izuru dance. Further, he wouldn't mind making a fool of himself on a dance floor if he could get a laugh out of the blond Shinigami for it. Izuru really did have a nice smile when he allowed himself to let it out.

"Are you having fun?" Yumichika suddenly questioned right in Ichigo's ear, causing the substitute Shinigami to startle.

Ichigo blinked, then reddened when he realized he had committed the rude act of thinking of someone else other than his date. "I..." he trailed off.

The other male simply smiled and patted his cheek in a fond gesture. "It's okay," Yumichika said, speaking just loud enough to be heard without having to resort to yelling. "I know you have your eyes on someone else."

And from the sparkle of mischief and knowledge in those purple irises, Ichigo had the sinking feeling that Yumichika knew just who it was already.

The boy furrowed his brow. "Then why go on a date?"

"I wanted to go dancing!" the fifth-seat chirped knowingly, as if that made perfect sense.

And it probably did, in Yumichika's own version of the world. All glittery sparkles and such.

"And only a moron would take Ikkaku. I mean, you've seen _that_ dance," he added with distaste, a look of disgust momentarily marring his features.

Unfortunately, Ichigo hadn't been able to wipe the memory of the supposed "luck" dance from his mind. It was cruel of the man to remind him, and the two of them shuddered in mutual aversion. One time had been enough for Ichigo. He didn't want to ever be forced to witness such a thing again.

"Now relax and just have fun!" Yumichika insisted with a bright smile.

With a complete lack of expectations on his date's part, Ichigo felt marginally better about the situation. No need to impress, he didn't have to worry about his severe lack of dancing skills. And he relaxed, smoothly and unconsciously moving in time with the music.

"And afterwards," the fifth-seat added, throwing his arms around Ichigo's neck for good measure. "We can karaoke. I know this great place. You'll love it!"

Ichigo fought the urge to run and hide in the corner.

* * *

a/n: Ukitake (Part Two) will come at a later time. And I'm working hard on those requests except a certain Ichigo/Byakuya plot bunny has been eating my brain and I've been furiously writing an epic piece. Wanna know about it? Check out the description in my bio!

Thanks for reading! Looking forward to your comments!


	53. A Cold, Hard Rain

**Title: A Cold, Hard Rain  
Pairings/Characters: Kira Izuru/Kuchiki Byakuya  
Rating: K+  
Warning: Implied Yaoi. Goes everywhere and nowhere; I only **_**hope**_** it makes sense.  
Words: 624  
Description: Being strong was all a matter of perspective.  
Dedication: To my beta, because she helps me come up with these crack pairings. **

* * *

He had the same eyes. Those same bright eyes that were begging to be saved, though pride never let those words be spoken.

Perhaps that was what had attracted Byakuya to Izuru in the first place.

He never had much contact with the third division vice-captain before. To say that Ichimaru had kept his subordinate close and within arms reach would have been an understatement. No one quite knew the extent of their relationship, and a part of Byakuya was afraid to ask because the urge to kill might have been more than he could suppress. Even so, he was aware that Ichimaru had owned a part of Izuru, and perhaps he still did. Not that it stopped Byakuya from trying to get it back.

He had a fragile smile, Byakuya noticed. Izuru's smile was hesitant, half-afraid of being taken away. As if by the simple lifting of his lips, some horrible catastrophe would fall upon him. Maybe it was regret, or maybe it was guilt. Byakuya couldn't decide either way. Still, he had the same smile in many ways.

Izuru was strong though, much more so than people gave him credit for. A strength that enabled him to stand even after being betrayed and abandoned. It was the kind of courage that kept him going, encouraging his teammates, and taking over the duties of a division that had been too long neglected. It was the kind of strength Byakuya envied since he knew that he couldn't find it for himself. Izuru was much more courageous than people gave him credit for.

It was a determination that Byakuya couldn't ignore.

And while he hadn't adopted the same behavior as the others, coddling what everyone else believed to be a weakness, Byakuya thought that there was something he could do for Izuru. More than the gifts of food and clothing and care that seemed so unimportant. Perhaps he simply had a soft spot for the broken ones, the eyes that were begging to be saved. The eyes that had been struck by a cold rain for longer than they cared to remember.

He didn't want to compare Izuru to Hisana, and while they were similar, they were in no way the same. He knew without a doubt that Izuru was far stronger than she ever could have been. And Byakuya never wanted his lover to think he was merely a substitute for her, for the woman who had broken his heart all those years ago. After all, while he had saved Hisana, she had only the greatest respect for him in return. To ask for love would have been too much.

A part of Byakuya feared he faced that from Izuru as well. That perhaps Ichimaru had taken the ability from him, that he would be left in the same position as before, holding a bleeding heart in his hands as he watched another pair of sad eyes walk away. In that regards, Izuru was much, much stronger than him for even daring to try again.

He wondered often, as he sat awake in the windowsill, watching the moonlight fall onto his paramour's sleeping face, if perhaps it hadn't been the other way around all along. While Byakuya had believed he was the one to save his lover, maybe he had it backwards. In spite of everything, he could sit and watch Izuru breathe, face peaceful in sleep as the nightmares grew less and less with every night. And instead of feeling fear grip his heart, the awful pain that signaled he was getting in over his head and would only be faced with another loveless path, he felt reassured.

Maybe even stronger himself.

Perhaps he had been the one to be saved, after all.

--

a/n: Moving right along with these crack pairings. Plenty more to come. Updates might come a little quicker now that I have a hefty stack here but I'm also neck deep in my Bleach fic-length story _Of Violence _and then I just started _Past Imperfect_. If you wanna read about them, the descriptions are in my profile.

Thanks everyone!


	54. A Queer Theory

**Title: A Queer Theory**

**Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Byakuya, Others**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Slash, Language**

**Words: 5, 316**

**Description: Directly related to _Mating Rituals, _part of the _Never Been Kissed_ universe. His sex life had been reduced to a bar graph. A bar graph! Someone was going to die. **

* * *

_The Mating Habits of Male Shinigami_

_Hypothesis: A homosexual relationship will not display seventy-five percent of the affection or monogamy of a heterosexual relationship. _

_Results were inconclusive. Further study is needed. See sections 1567 through 1678 of the division records center for all data transcribed._

* * *

It wasn't often that Byakuya traveled down to Karakura, but being as he and Ichigo were in a give-and-take relationship, it was only fair that he left Soul Society on an equal basis for as much as Ichigo came to him. Besides, the human town was often good for a vacation, a chance to get away from the trials of Shinigami work. Not to mention it was worth it just to taste Yuzu's cooking.

In any case, he returned to Soul Society early one morning, somewhat tired but generally feeling pretty cheerful. Or as cheery as a man like him dared show the world. However, the moment he stepped through the Seikaimon, it was clear that there was something _off_ about Soul Society. It wasn't tangible or plainly obvious, but he couldn't shake the feeling.

Byakuya frowned as headed towards his division, determined to see how it had collapsed in his absence and under Renji's command. While his vice-captain was capable, the Kuchiki heir still didn't like to leave it out of his own control for too long. It was the possessive part of him, he supposed.

It wasn't until he was very nearly within his division compound that he noticed something strange. He had only idly paid attention to the fact that those around him were reading something, but it wasn't until he caught sight of Zaraki Kenpachi reading the very same thing that he began to grow suspicious. He didn't even know that the eleventh division captain _could _read, much less actually want to. It made his own curiosity heighten, and he resolved to somehow get a copy of whatever it was that was occupying everyone's attention. And he honestly meant everyone because no matter where he looked, it was in the hands of every person he spotted.

Byakuya stepped into his division and immediately found Renji propped up behind his desk, leaning back with his legs sprawled improperly against his door. A chastisement found its way to Byakuya's lips, but before he could speak, he noticed that his vice-captain was also reading the very same document that seemed to have captivated the rest of Soul Society.

He frowned. "Renji."

With a start, Renji's hands flew up, sending the papers flying in a whirl as he promptly fell over, so engrossed that he hadn't even sensed his captain's presence. He looked up from his askew position, and to Byakuya's surprise, his vice-captain was turning red and doing his best not to meet the Kuchiki heir's eyes.

"Eh... welcome back, taichou," the redhead said, half-stuttering as he promptly tried to gather the scattered papers.

Byakuya was not amused. "I hope that this is not representative of how you spent my entire absence," he commented, fixing his vice-captain with his best reprimanding glare.

"Of course not." Renji still wouldn't look him in the eye. "The division's runnin' smooth and's ready for action. Paperwork's on yer desk."

The captain watched his subordinate for a moment, inwardly amused by the redhead's squirming before he finally stepped towards his office. "Very well. Carry on, Renji."

Back in the sanctity and quiet of his office, Byakuya calmly perched behind his desk and eyed the massive stack of documents with a mournful glare. He recognized the paperwork as a necessity. Still, he couldn't help but think that the old geezer assigned half of it simply because he wanted something for them all to do when there wasn't a Hollow to destroy or a random ryouka invasion to stop. More than half of it, he believed, was absolutely pointless.

With a final glare at the pile on his desk, he reached for the top of the stack and got to work. Lost in figures and words and more reports than he ever cared to read, he promptly forgot about the strange document circling Soul Society. It wasn't until many hours later, as he reached the very bottom of the never-ending mound, that he remembered his interest. But by then, he was far too tired to even look at it.

He resolved to take said document home without once even glancing at the headline.

Byakuya dismissed Renji for the day, extracting a promise from his vice-captain to be in on time and sober in the morning before leaving himself. He headed towards Ukitake's quarters, considering that his were still under construction thanks to a certain trio's drunken mishap. His room had been completed but not the rest of the house. Besides, his senpai enjoyed the company.

The thirteenth division captain wasn't home when Byakuya arrived, but the few servants were more than willing to accommodate him. He quickly found himself relaxing in the common room, calmly sipping tea as he pulled out the document that seemed to captivate all of Seireitei.

_The Mating Habits of Male Shinigami._

Well, it certainly seemed more interesting than the usual substandard and boring fare that Mayuri tried to force on them. He idly wondered what foolish idiots had given the kook scientist free reign to study their love lives.

Byakuya shifted to get comfortable in his chair and flipped open the report to the first page, briefly labeled "Encounter One."

Jyuushiro sighed and swept a stray strand of hair over his shoulder as he stepped into the foyer of his home. His day hadn't been particularly taxing, but at times, the arguing of his two third-seats could ride on even his patience. He greeted one of his servants briefly, accepting the man's offer for a cup of warm tea and slid into his house shoes.

All around him was silence. It was often far too lonely in his house, thus the reason he encouraged the Kuchiki heir to continue his stay while the rest of his manor was being reconstructed, and with a quick scan with his reiatsu, he knew that Byakuya was present but not Ichigo. The thirteenth division captain had been happy for their company and even happier to keep their secret, which really wasn't much of a secret at all, at least to him.

Jyuushiro padded quietly down the hall, heading towards the common room where he sensed his kouhai to be. He paused in the doorway, opening his mouth to give greetings to the younger man when he noticed a strange look on Byakuya's face. He was turning various shades of red, fury evident, hands shaking as he clutched some sort of document very tightly.

Concerned, Jyuushiro stepped into the room. "Byakuya?"

As if startled by the sound of his voice, the younger man suddenly rocketed to his feet, the paper falling to the ground with a flutter. His hand twitched at his side, groping for a sword that usually present but wasn't at this time of night.

"I left something at the office," Byakuya stated gruffly, sounding not like his usual self as he swept past Ukitake and stormed from the room.

Jyuushiro blinked. "All right."

But the other captain was already gone, a swirling presence fading down the hallway.

Confused, the white-haired male checked the room his kouhai had just vacated, stooping down to scoop up the paper. He recognized the familiar title from the report Mayuri had published that very morning. Most of Seireitei had read the document, claiming that for once it was interesting.

Brown eyes flickered from the paper to the door and back to the paper again. He tilted his head to the side, recalling certain details.

It clicked in his brain.

"Ah," Ukitake said to himself, half-wondering where Byakuya had gotten to and whether he should worry about property damage. "I wonder which he was."

He left the article sitting on the desk in the common room.

Meanwhile, in Karakura, Ichigo yawned as he trudged through the front door and up the stairs to his room, giving his sisters only cursory greetings. Luckily, his father was still busy in the clinic, so he wouldn't have to worry about dealing with the man's idiocy. After putting up with Keigo all day, Ichigo wasn't in any mood for loud, outrageous personalities.

Raking a hand through already disheveled hair, Ichigo stepped into his bedroom, not even pausing at the sight of Rukia sprawled out on his bed. It was frightening how used to that he was getting. She was reading something, whatever it was completely capturing her attention.

"What's that?" the teenager asked, dropping his school bag next to his desk chair. He tugged at his shirt, untucking the ends and feeling marginally better for doing so.

"One of Kurotsuchi-taichou's reports," Rukia answered distractedly with a shrug. She eyed him for all of a second before turning back to the last few lines.

Ichigo made a face, all semblance of interest dissipating. Ignoring Rukia's constant presence, he slid into his chair and contemplated the homework waiting patiently for him in his bag. With all the time he had just spent with Byakuya recently, he was falling a bit behind. But oh was it worth it.

"You should read it," Rukia suggested in the tone he was unfortunately beginning to recognize. "It's actually pretty interesting."

He dropped his book to the desktop with a loud thump and snorted in disbelief.

No fucking way.

Reaching for a pencil, he was interrupted when the packet of papers was suddenly flung down in front of him, scattering his math problems. The title glared at him in big and dark letters. Shooting the bitch a scowl, Ichigo tentatively picked it up and frowned.

"He doesn't have anything better to do than watch people do... this?" Ichigo asked, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

Rukia rolled her eyes. Ichigo was still a prude. She didn't think the boy would ever change.

"Read it," she urged.

The teenager shrugged, flipping open the report and scanning it. He knew that look in her eyes. It said that he'd better, or she would hurt him. Either that or make his day long and annoying by arguing with him until he gave in.

Satisfied that Ichigo was following her orders, Rukia picked up one of her magazines and flipped to her favorite page, the "Sexcapades" stories. They were always amusing.

The room was filled with a companionable sort of silence until all of a sudden, Ichigo shot to his feet, swearing under his breath.

"That damn bastard," he hissed, blindly groping for his Shinigami badge and suddenly shoving himself out of his body. "I'm gonna kill him." His body slumped to the floor as he inwardly seethed, leaping for his window.

His sex life had been reduced to a bar graph. A bar graph!

Someone was going to die.

"Ichigo?"

But the substitute Shinigami leapt over Rukia as if hadn't heard her and out the window, heading straight for Urahara's shop. He had to get to Soul Society, and he had to get there now!

The paper crinkled as he crushed it between his fingers. Rage fought with embarrassment, sadly losing both the battle and the war. He wondered if Aizen would mind Byakuya and him dropping in for oh-say the next thousand years. He liked trees. And sand. And well… darkness. Sort of.

Left behind, Rukia blinked in surprise until her eyes widened. "No way," she breathed, frantically trying to recall the report she had read. "No way! In my room? On my bed? Nii-sama!" she cried in an outrage, leaping for the window herself.

On her bed? Her Chappy sheets? How dare he? _How _dare he?

He was the great Lord Kuchiki, and he did technically own the house, but that gave him no right to defile her bed! Her C_happy_ sheets! They'd never be the same again.

In a flash, she was gone. Two squeaks echoed in the room in her absence.

"Nee-san?" Kon asked, one paw to his mouth as he poked his head out of the closet. "Ichigo?"

The flutter of the window curtain was his only answer.

* * *

Aizen Sousuke sneezed, rubbing his nose as he continued to study the report in his hand. Nearby, Ichimaru Gin did the same, equally engrossed with what he was reading aloud to Tousen Kaname. The blind man did not seem nearly as amused.

"Ne, ne, Aizen-taichou, enjoying yerself?" his second-in-command questioned a moment later as he glanced up, grin wider than usual. "Personally, I didn't think that the stuff on page seven was even possible."

Aizen smirked fondly. "Only if you are very flexible, Gin," he commented, thinking back to his own experiences and his very nimble bedmate.

Ah, memories.

Perhaps he could convince Kuchiki-hime and Kurosaki-kun to join him. They would certainly make things interesting.

* * *

It was pretty quiet for once. No random appearances of Hollows or Arrancar or anything in between. Even the Shinigami visits had been pretty short lately. With Renji back in Seireitei for a mandatory check-in, Urahara was basking in the calm of his home. Though it was amusing to tease the vice-captain, hearing he and Jinta argue for hours on end did get tiring.

With that in mind, Urahara Kisuke sat back in his chair and relaxed, contemplating asking Tessai to bring him some tea. He looked down at the paper in his lap, a new delivery from Soul Society. He had asked for copies of all of Mayuri's reports just to keep an eye on his replacement. This one had proved to be very interesting indeed. Especially page seven. That brought back memories.

On the edge of his senses, however, he suddenly felt a very familiar tingle. It was a furious, raw reiatsu, very strong if rather young. Kurosaki-kun's reiatsu. And it was heading his direction at an incredibly fast pace. Urahara had the distinct impression that his student was a bit perturbed.

His suspicion was confirmed when Ichigo burst into the room, knocking things off the wall with the force of his reiatsu. Urahara tried not to wince when he heard certain delicate objects shatter.

"Kurosaki-san, how nice to--"

He was cut off abruptly. "No pleasantries," Ichigo snarled, resembling a tiger in his ferocity. "Send me to Soul Society."

Brown eyes flickered to the document still in Urahara's possession, the title of the report resoundingly obvious. Ichigo visibly clenched his teeth and suddenly snatched the papers from his master's hand, crumpling them into his fist, reiatsu darkening them around the edges much like a fire.

"_Now," _Ichigo hissed, his eyes sparking. The look on his face was strange, a mix of embarrassment and fury.

Lifting his brow, Urahara nodded. "If you insist." His fan snapped out of nowhere. "I'll get Tessai."

Minutes later, Ichigo was on his way to Soul Society, a crumpled and scorched paper firmly in his grasp. His thoughts in a whirl of intellectual discussion, Urahara calmly pulled out a second copy and thumbed through. It was easy to put two and two together, and through the process of elimination, it was also easy to figure that the other Shinigami had been Kuchiki Byakuya.

Snickering to himself at this information, Kisuke knew that it was only proper that he share. So he called Isshin and chuckled under his breath until the former captain arrived, looking worried.

Kisuke waved a hand. "Mah, Isshin. Calm down. No one's hurt."

"Tch. Vague bastard," his companion growled good-naturedly before plopping himself down on the floor across the table and helping himself to some tea. "What's this about then?"

He didn't waste a moment, promptly shoving the report in the other male's face. Isshin took it with skepticism, looking over it at one of his oldest friends before finally glancing at the title.

"Mating Habits?" he cackled, shooting Urahara an amused look. "Crackpot's not getting any smarter is he?"

Kisuke just smiled that damn mysterious smile and hid his face behind his fan. "Read it. I'm sure you'll find the contents enlightening."

The doctor lifted a brow but obediently read, laughing occasionally, until he had finished every last line.

"'The world moving…' Ha! Priceless!" He shook his head and handed the paper over. "It's good to see that your successor's as insane as ever. Who're the unlucky bastards?"

Kisuke slowly lowered his fan. "Your son and his lover," he informed flatly.

Isshin froze, hands making a slow curl into fists. "You're telling me that Kurotsuchi _filmed_ my _son_ having sex with his boyfriend, Kuchiki Byakuya?" he demanded, his tone implying that truth better be impending or there would be blood.

Mildly concerned for his own safety, Kisuke nodded.

Isshin growled low in his throat, the urge to kill rising. "I'm going to murder that bastard. Who else knows?"

Feeling the need to hide once more, Kisuke laughed nervously. "Oh, no one I'm sure. Just Yoruichi... and I did see Rukia-chan looking a little perturbed."

The angry father smacked himself in the forehead. "Now, everyone's going to know," he groaned, glancing at the paper once more. "My pity goes with you, son. Try not to kill anyone."

"The same could be said for you," Kisuke commented wisely. "You and your 'virgin daddy's eyes.'"

Isshin shuddered in remembrance. "I never want to see my son in that position again. No matter how much he seemed to be enjoying it before I interrupted."

* * *

That night, a certain sector of the twelfth division's records was destroyed in a mysterious fire, which somehow managed not to spread.

By the next morning, however, everyone in Seireitei had discovered the identity of Mayuri's supposedly anonymous test subjects.

* * *

It was the talk of the early morning strategy meeting among the captains. Ichigo had been invited to his particular gathering, but he hadn't yet arrived. Neither had Byakuya. This meant that it was the prime time for certain research to be discussed as Seireitei's best kept secret finally emerged to the light with every gritty, and hot, detail.

Unohana was the first to break the contemplative aura that had settled over the first division quarters. "How did we not see this coming?" she asked, shaking her head. "Normally, one would have some indication..."

"Apparently, Mayuri saw them coming," Shunsui deadpanned, a snicker slipping out of his lips before he could stop it. "Many, many times."

Across the table, Jyuushiro laughed at the inappropriate comment and was forced to hide it behind a cough. Shunsui was always dragging him down to his level.

Mayuri was absolutely indignant, straightening in his chair. "I'll have you know that it was a legitimate scientific study."

"That they didn't volunteer for," someone muttered.

Before Mayuri could locate the perpetrator, Hitsugaya coughed under his breath. "Pervert."

The scientist spluttered, tapping his longer fingernails on the table. "I am not!"

"I should've used that line!" Shunsui declared to add to the insanity, in the midst of rereading. "'The world moving when I kissed you.' Hey, Jyuu-chan, you think if I used that line they'd know where it came from?

Ukitake rolled his eyes. "They'd know, Shunsui. Give it up."

While his best friend of so many centuries pouted, Komamura thought it necessary to interject in a stiff tone, "This is not an appropriate discussion. I do not think Kuchiki-taichou would appreciate it."

Shunsui waved him off. "It will be fine. Byakuya-kun's used to gossip."

"I always thought there was somethin' fruity 'bout the pretty boy," Zaraki grunted, wanting to get his dig in since he was mildly pissed about being forced to be awake for this meeting. "Ichigo's a surprise though."

"Obviously, you don't know Kurosaki very well," Hitsugaya muttered to himself. "Matsumoto was undressing, and he covered his eyes. Obviously, all was not straight in the land of his hakama."

Shunsui looked horrified at the prospect. "Why would he do such a thing?" he asked, unable to comprehend.

"I should think the answer to that is pretty obvious," Soifon inserted dryly, gesturing to the "scientific" report in his hands.

"I think it's sweet," Unohana Retsu commented in a wistful tone. "Romantic, very sweet," she added, "and very hot."

At her words, several male eyes turned towards her in confusion. And Soifon as well.

Unohana smiled serenely.

It was in that moment that Byakuya finally made an appearance, a foreboding presence as he swept into the first division chambers. Everyone went silent as he strode into the room, scarf fluttering behind him. His eyes swept the table, landing on Mayuri, and he affixed the scientist with a glare of death, even as he took his seat between Komamura and an empty chair, Aizen's usual place.

Awkward was the only way to describe the aura in the room.

Always the first to break the tension, Shunsui shot the surly man a thumbs up. "Ne, Byakuya-kun, you should be proud! Your stamina and flexibility is astounding! Not to mention your level of horniness!" he chirped with a lazy grin. "Perhaps we could even see a live demonstration of page seven."

"Shunsui!" Jyuushiro hissed, feeling the urge to poke his friend but unable to do so from the distance separating them.

Hitsugaya snickered into his palm. Zaraki gave a predatory grin.

Byakuya's eyes widened, the only outwards sign of his aggravation. His glare shifted from Mayuri to Shunsui, giving the scientist a brief reprieve.

"I would think--"

Slam!

The doors had flown open with all the force of an explosion, a sharp crack echoing through the air. All eyes turned towards them, finding Ichigo standing there with rage etched into his features. The force of his reiatsu, something he could never keep contained, swept into the room, waving the banners on the walls. And most of them idly wondered how they had missed his approach.

For the first time, a brief show of fear appeared on Kurotsuchi Mayuri's face.

Yamamoto cleared his throat noisily. "Calm down, Kurosaki-san," he intoned in his gravelly voice. "This is official business. We can deal with personal matters later."

The substitute Shinigami's eye twitched, and he nodded his head jerkily, moving to take the empty seat next to Byakuya. But before he made it, Shunsui grabbed his arm and plunked him down in the space between Hitsugaya and him.

"I still don't see what the issue is," Mayuri huffed as Ichigo settled moodily into his seat. "No one has addressed the fact that part of my division was destroyed last night."

He knew who had done it, but without proof or an investigation, there was no use in placing the blame.

Byakuya pursed his lips. "Perhaps you should have invested in a fire suppression system," the aristocrat suggested through clenched teeth. "Instead of spending all of your funds on voyeuristic pursuits." His tone was icy, not even dignifying it as research.

Sniffing disdainfully, Mayuri waved a pale hand. "My research was approved by Yamamoto-soutaichou. There is nothing you can do about it."

This was news to everyone. Most had believed he had gone off the radar to conduct his experiment. It wouldn't have been the first time.

Shunsui blinked. "Yama-jii?"

"Yamamoto-soutaichou," Komamura began grimly as shocked as his voice would allow. "You approved this _nonsense_?"

"Filth!" Soifon corrected, a look of disgust on her face, though it was hard to tell from normal. "It is utter filth."

Byakuya wavered, uncertain if he should be offended by Soifon's comment or applaud her reaction to Mayuri's research. He settled for vague apathy.

All attentions were directed towards the aged captain-commander, desiring a swift answer. Yamamoto was embarrassed at being called out, shifting in his chair. He didn't have a suitable answer for them.

"Pfft," Zaraki sniggered. "Ya signed it without reading it, didn't ya?"

"But no one reads what that crackpot writes," someone pointed out under her breath, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell who.

Mayuri bristled at the offense. "I am an established, authorized scientist!" he argued. "And since all of my research was destroyed, including the copies hidden in my personal safe, I will simply have to repeat my investigation."

At this revelation, Ichigo jerked in his seat. Both Shunsui and Hitsugaya grabbed him, interpreting the movement as a possible lunge across the table. The teenager scowled at both of them but was saved from needing to speak when the temperature on the other side of Mayuri dropped considerably.

"You will do no such thing," Ukitake Jyuushiro inserted in a commanding voice, offended on behalf of his kouhai and the young Shinigami he had come to admire. "You've invaded their privacy enough."

"It's perfectly within my rights. The Kurosaki boyis _only_ a substitute," Mayuri countered in a lofty but high-pitched tone. "And a human at that. I can do whatever I want."

Feeling Ichigo's muscles jump beneath their touch, both captains sought to tighten their hold as Mayuri continued, gesturing with one hand. To the substitute Shinigami, Hueco Mundo was sounding better and better with every passing second. Besides, Aizen didn't hold a candle to this freakshow.

"Kuchiki-taichou is under no obligation to participate. On the other hand, that boy has no choice in the matter. I will merely select another bedfellow for him. I _will _have my data."

Ukitake's lips thinned in disgust, using every ounce of his self-control to refrain from harming the deranged scientist. The others were left in a stunned sort of silence, eyes ping-ponging between the exchange. Yamamoto seemed perfectly content to let Mayuri continue to dig his own grave, making no moves to cease the argument.

Across the table, Byakuya could not remain silent any longer. "You will not touch him," he declared in a voice frosty enough to put out Yamamoto's Ryuujin Jakka, enunciating every word as if making a promise for pain.

"Of course, _I_ won't," Mayuri said with a hint of distaste. "I am sure that I could, however, find plenty of volunteers. Your vice-captain perhaps. Or several members of my own division. I'm sure they won't damage him too much, and he will be returned relatively intact."

Byakuya's hand twitched as he rose to his feet.

The scientist panicked, thinking that the man was reaching for his zanpakutou. His eyes widened, and he hurriedly threw a kidoh spell, wanting to get in the first move, coward that he was. It whizzed by the Kuchiki heir's shoulder, blowing a huge hole in the back wall.

Byakuya's face showed only a fraction of his surprise. And gasps were heard all around.

Agitated, Mayuri threw another fire spell, attempting to move from his chair and get away. Strangely enough, however, he found his seat being shoved impossibly forward, trapping him at the table.

"You should stay seated, Kurotsuchi-taichou," Jyuushiro stated fiercely, revealing himself to be the perpetrator. "I'd hate for you to get in more trouble than you have already acquired. An unprovoked attack on another captain in front of witnesses--"

"Including Yama-jii!" Shunsui felt inclined to chime in, still holding onto Ichigo though it seemed it was no longer necessary.

The substitute Shinigami was too stupefied to speak, even though the urge to make dust out of Mayuri was flooding through his veins.

"--is an offense punishable by execution during times of war," Jyuushiro continued, throwing Shunsui a brief look. "Especially in the light of recent events. It is in your best interest to remain silent."

Mayuri squeaked, struggling to draw a breath as he was squished between the table and his chair. "I've done nothing wrong!"

"That's enough!" Yamamoto declared, his voice booming through the chambers as he stood. "We all agree _that _is quite enough of this matter." He narrowed his aged gaze on Mayuri, fire burning in their depths. "You will leave Kurosaki-san alone, Kurotsuchi-taichou, or I cannot be responsible for your continued health and wellbeing. And in exchange, I'm sure Kuchiki-taichou and his... _associate_ will be willing to overlook past transgressions." He turned to Byakuya. "Agreed?"

The Kuchiki heir inclined his head. "Your wisdom knows best, Yamamoto-soutaichou."

"Very well," the old man said seriously. "Remember, Kurotsuchi-taichou, while Kuchiki-taichou and Kurosaki-san may forgive your transgressions, that does not mean that their friends and families are under the same obligation. I would be careful in how I address them in the future, if I were you. And I would even suggest avoiding them altogether."

The scientist could feel his tail between his legs as he slumped in his seat. "But what about the damage to my division?" he protested in a small voice, distinctly remembering the feel of a Quincy's arrow going through his body.

Yamamoto was not amused.

Zaraki snorted and sat back in his chair. "Probably your own damn fault anyways with all the freak ass shit you do over there." He gave another wolfish grin. This had been the best damn strategy meeting _ever_.

On the verge of bristling again, Mayuri's reply was quickly cut off by Yamamoto rapping his cane sharply against the floor. "We will discuss your current experiments after the meeting, Kurotsuchi-taichou. In light of the events, I am curious as to what else you may be conducting."

If it weren't for the disastrous make up, everyone would have seen Mayuri pale. Byakuya, however, returned to his seat with a hint of smug pride on his face. Ichigo was finally released from the hands restraining him.

"Now, if everyone doesn't mind, I would like you to take your seats so we can begin the meeting."

There were no arguments.

* * *

"It's not fair," Ichigo grumbled sometime later as he and Byakuya walked together through the side streets. "Why did you get to destroy the building and not save any for me?"

A slim hand reached for his, entangling their fingers and squeezing briefly. "You could always work off your frustrations in a different manner," Byakuya suggested, a lascivious gleam in his eye.

"Your office?" Ichigo suggested, his own eyes taking on the same sparkle. Though he couldn't help looking over his shoulder, wondering if they were being watched by some far away voyeur.

Byakuya hummed in his throat. "Perhaps." He considered their options, knowing that his still-under-construction home was not suitable, and people were going to be suspicious of that closet now that the truth was out.

He was still in the process of considering when he noticed several Shinigami heading in their direction, strangely led by his vice-captain.

"Can I help you?" he asked Renji, lifting a brow.

The redhead had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, taichou. They wouldn't stop asking and--"

Before he could even finish, a woman next to him, one Byakuya didn't recognize, elbowed him painfully in the side, causing him to gasp and stagger. She pushed her way to the front of the pack, her starry-eyes seeming to center on Ichigo.

"Depending on if you're subject A or B, we have some questions for you about page seven," she said in a hurry before shoving a small book she'd had clutched to her chest in his direction. "And would you please sign this for me?"

Ichigo turned bright red, his eyes flickering around for an escape. "I... uh..."

The woman just gave a girly sigh and pressed closer. Byakuya practically growled in response. Ichigo simply wondered what the weather was like this time of year in Las Noches.

"Nii-sama!!"

The two lovers turned to find Rukia storming their direction, looking out of breath and furious. "I can't believe you either, Ichigo!" she continued, her face a thunderous fury. "On my bed?!"

Byakuya was beginning to consider moving to Hueco Mundo. Surely, Aizen Sousuke couldn't be as bad as this.

* * *

a/n: Thanks for reading! I've been hard at work! Writing lots and lots, some stuff that won't fit in this, an epic or two, plus more drabbles. I'm looking at those requests! I promise. Thanks

* * *


	55. Of Honor and Pride

**Title: Of Honor and Pride**

**Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, Mentions of Others**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: SPOILERS, Language**

**Words: 736**

**Description: Honor has killed millions and saved no one, least of all the man he loved as a son.**

* * *

He sits back, and his eyes flicker to the calendar again. Forty-three years ago to the day, he had once watched his subordinate take the life of his vice-captain in a battle for pride. It has not gotten easier for him to accept, and even to him, the words he told Rukia all that time ago return fake and hollow.

Jyuushiro often berates himself when no one is looking because it is not their business how much he despises his own choices and wishes he had picked differently. Not even Shunsui is aware how deeply the guilt runs in. It is a burden that Jyuushiro bears alone.

He knows it was his fault that Kaien died.

To be sure, some of the blame rests on the Hollow that was the catalyst of the events, but the knowledge that he had the power, that with a simple incantation Jyuushiro could have saved his vice-captain's life, rests heavily on his soul. It is an endless, sick cycle of thoughts running over and over in his head. For the sake of honor and pride, for the sake of a tasteless nothing that can't be held or loved, he allowed his good-as-son to die.

Jyuushiro remembers the lines that he fed Rukia, recalls it was his hand that held her back at first, explaining the difference between two kinds of battles. But if he had known then what he knew now, perhaps things would have been a bit different. If he had realized that he would be grieving over Kaien's body, that he would change Rukia's life and deprive the Shibas of their eldest child, maybe he wouldn't have said such foolish things.

Honor is a cold, heartless creature, caring little for the love left behind, for the heartache and pain. Pride is an empty, hungry beast, empty as the sorrow of Rukia and the Shibas. As empty as the second seat in his division, one that he cannot bring himself to fill. He knows it is because the irrational part of himself is still waiting for the ghost of a dead man to return. Jyuushiro understands that if he lets someone else take that spot, take the position that was Kaien's and Kaien's alone, it will be as if he has finally accepted what has happened.

But he hasn't.

He knows the biggest mistake he has ever made was to believe in honor and pride, to believe that it was worth it in the end. He comprehends that had he been in his right mind, he would have killed the bastard of a Hollow himself. He would have endured the anger Kaien would have thrown his direction. And eventually, Kaien would have gotten over it. He would have proved his skill time and time again in some other capacity.

Jyuushiro knows that he would have rather had a furious and disappointed Kaien, alive and warm in his division, than a Kaien with his pride but now only a spirit consumed by a Hollow, blood staining Rukia's once hopeful hands. He would rather have given his vice-captain the chance to regain his lost honor than see the pain in Kuukaku and Ganju's eyes for the sibling he so callously took from them.

And he hates himself more and more every day for that mistake.

For ever how much the Shiba clan blames Rukia and he for what happened, Jyuushiro knows that no one can fault him more than himself. And in the end, it hadn't even been him to take Kaien's life, to free him from the grip of the Hollow. It had been Rukia, still struggling to find her place in the world, forced to draw her sword and kill the one person she had really trusted.

There is nothing Jyuushiro can do to ease that agony for her. His words sound hollow, just as they did then, hollow and empty and fake. He wishes he could go back and tell himself how much of a fool he was to believe in pride and honor. He wishes he could say, "Fuck honor, just come back alive."

But most of all, he wishes he still had a vice-captain, a son. Wishes that Ganju and Kuukaku still had a brother and Rukia still had a dear friend.

No one knows his own mistakes better than himself, and no one could possibly hate them more.

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a/n: Thanks for reading! There's plenty more to come. I've also added some other separate Bleach fics if you guys would go check them out I would be much obliged. Thanks!


	56. Family Guy

**Title: Family Guy  
Characters: Kenpachi, Yachiru, Yumichika, Ikkaku  
Rating: K+  
Warning: Some Cursing****  
Words: 1203  
Description: It was all Kurosaki's fault. Yachiru had been perfectly content before.**

* * *

It was all Kurosaki's fault.

If he hadn't of gone and gotten married and had kids, then Zaraki Kenpachi would not have found in himself in this particular situation. But he had. And it had gotten certain individuals to thinking who should not have started, namely his vice-captain.

Now, here he was, tromping off to one of the orphanages in Rukongai, the citizens around him giving a wide, fearful berth. Not that he cared. Yachiru swung from his shoulder as always, excitedly kicking her feet as she imagined what was soon to come. Yumichika and Ikkaku trailed along behind him.

"Ken-chan, I want a little brother," she had said to him the other day.

And well, Kenpachi never could deny her anything. He had learned quickly that denying turned to watery eyes and pouty lips and expressions of her displeasure that resulted in destruction. The last time he received a message from Yamamoto to "please, give her what she wants" had taught him that. It took several years for the twelfth division to recover, targeted only because she could readily find it, being next door and all.

Mayuri had only survived because of a passing Ukitake Jyuushiro, who claimed he had never heard such screams in his entire life. Kurotsuchi still twitched every time he saw Yachiru wandering around by her lonesome. Her cries of glee were known to make him spontaneously explode into a puddle of quivering goo, after which he would slink off to his rebuilt division to reform.

In any case, Mayuri's spastic attacks had nothing to do with where he stood right now. Yumichika sparkled gaily at his left side. Ikkaku scowled petulantly with his sword propped up on one shoulder to Kenpachi's right. And Yachiru still hung from him, chirping merrily.

"I'm here to adopt a brat," Kenpachi rumbled.

Yes. He was at an orphanage in Rukongai.

Why?

Cause Yachiru wanted a damn brother. And apparently, dragging Renji in for occasional playtime wasn't good enough. Pay attention.

The matronly old woman who had answered the door was quivering as her eyes flitted between the four of them. Kenpachi, for his part, couldn't understand why.

He checked. Twice. Yes. He was still wearing the eyepatch. So why was the damn coward still--

Yumichika elbowed him. Hard.

"Taichou, stop glaring," his fifth-seat insisted with another pretty sparkle. "It's unbeautiful." A pause. "And you're scaring her."

Despite the fact that _no one_ told him what to do, Kenpachi conceded. Again, the threat of Yachiru's displeasure hung over his head.

He took a deep breath and tried for a pleasant smile, pulling his lips out wide. It ended up being a fang-bearing, rather ferocious grin. But hey, it was the _thought_ that counted. Right?

The woman visibly recoiled, shrinking back into a grey-haired ball of fear. "We have several available for adoption," she squeaked out, resembling Kurotsuchi before she cleared her throat. "Can you... Can you support them?"

Kenpachi was only vaguely affronted. Ikkaku looked like a ruffian, after all. It was to be expected.

"What?" he demanded with a snort, jerking a thumb towards his least tattered haori. "Does bein' a captain of the Gotei 13 not mean anything these days?"

Realization dawned. He noticed the moment understanding poured into her expression. Those wimpy eyes immediately shifted to Yachiru.

The brat waved wildly. "Hiya!" Yachiru declared. "I want a brother."

Nodding very, very slowly, the woman turned on her heels. "Okay. This way… um, sir."

Kenpachi grinned and followed, Yumichika and Ikkaku trailing behind.

His third-seat coughed into his hand. "Spoiled."

"Rargh!" Yachiru bounded from Kenpachi's shoulder to Ikkaku's and promptly chomped on his head.

The old woman did a marvelous job of pretending she didn't notice the subsequent howls of pain or the attempts of human chew-toy removal.

Yumichika sighed prettily and examined his fingernails.

"Can't take you guys nowhere," Kenpachi grunted, idly scratching his belly where a particularly itchy spot had attacked him.

The woman led them to a room where about ten kids were playing, all of various ages. Most looked up as they entered with vague interest.

"Would you like me to introduce you?" she so graciously offered, though it was clear she wasn't certain this was the _best_ idea, only saying it out of politeness.

Heh. Manners. Worthless little things.

Kenpachi shook his head, tapping Yachiru on the face where she had returned to his shoulder. "Alright, brat. Pick one."

"Yay!"

She bounced from his shoulder and into the midst of the brood, terrifying two into immediately bursting into tears and dashing behind the matronly woman. Che. Not those cowards then.

Yachiru put finger to her lips as she looked around, as if she thought she were in the middle of a candy shop. "Hmmmmmm."

Three children wet themselves, most subtly trying to crawl from her. The older ones were very obviously backing away.

But not one brat. He just smiled guilelessly at her, waving one happy fist.

Yachiru grinned and picked him up. The boy giggled, burbling out a spit bubble.

"This one, Ken-chan!" Yachiru declared. "I like this one!"

He burped.

Kenpachi grinned. Of course, she would pick the one kid in the entire orphanage who had a spark of reiatsu. Though, how she had figured that one out was beyond him. Hell, he'd barely noticed himself.

Yumichika sighed again, obviously very bored since there were no men to woo and then subsequently destroy. "And here, I thought we had escaped those terrible years." He and Ikkaku had arrived long after the potty-training, after all.

Ikkaku scratched his nose, looking side-long at the infant. Blood and saliva dribbled on his forehead.

"That brat looks strong." The bald man gave a fierce smile. "I'll bet he'll kick ass."

The woman shifted on her feet, trying to look as if she wasn't two steps away from calling security, even though she didn't have it. "Almost makes you want one of your own, ne?"

Ikkaku promptly choked, terror attacking him so quickly that it stole his breath.

Yumichika felt a tug on his hakama and promptly looked down. "Yes?" he asked, finding himself looking at a rather pretty little girl. Really, she could be his sister.

"Are you going to be my new mommy?" the child questioned, tugging on her neat and tidy dress, soft green eyes blinking up at him.

Yumichika's mouth dropped.

Kenpachi burst into laughter, sending the last two kids to wailing as Ikkaku dropped to the floor in hilarity.

Yachiru had asked the same damn thing the first time she saw Yumichika.

His fifth-seat was absolutely speechless, torn between indignation and feeling complimented.

Baby in hand, Yachiru chose that moment to bound up, offering her choice to her sort-of father. "See, Ken-chan?" she said, shoving the kid towards him. "He's strong!"

Kenpachi eyed the brat, big grey eyes and dark, dark hair giving him wayward thoughts of a certain Kuchiki captain. He warily accepted the kid into his arms, holding him up and giving him a once over. The baby promptly popped Kenpachi's nose with his fist and then giggled.

Yeah, okay. The damn thing was pretty cute.

He looked past the newest addition to his family and sniggered. "I'll take it."

"Yay!"

* * *

a/n: I blame my beta entirely for this. Yes, I do. It is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoyed!


	57. Can I Keep Him?

**Title: Can I Keep Him?**

**Pairings/Characters: Aizen, Gin/Ichigo (one-sided… perhaps)**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: OOC, randomness, weirdness, AU to newest chapters  
**

**Words: 603**

**Description: Aizen is usually not surprised by the things that Gin drags in, but this time even he is unprepared. Loosely related to Drabble 32, "Fetch and Carry." **

* * *

Aizen Sousuke, lord and master of Hueco Mundo and eventual god of his own new world, rarely had opportunity to find himself surprised. As vast as his intelligence stretched and his own skills in predicting other people's actions, he didn't think he could have anticipated _this_. Though in all honesty, he probably should have.

Gin had been notedly obvious in displaying his interest in the Kurosaki boy, going so far as to extol on his many _assets_ in the company of the Arrancar, most of whom only pretended to listen. At the time, Aizen had thought it to be presumptuous to label his heir's behavior as _stalkerish._ However, given the current situation, perhaps he had been too hasty in dismissing Gin's attractions as merely simple curiosity.

It wasn't every day that his former vice-captain strolled into his throne room with none other than Kurosaki Ichigo draped across him piggy-back style. The substitute Shinigami was unconscious, a cracked hollow's mask hiding half of his face along with a few spatters of blood, likely from the battle started by Gin in Las Noches. And the look on the silver-haired man's face was nothing short of excited, jubilant, lips stretched into an even wider grin than usual.

"Look what I caught, Aizen-taichou!" Gin exclaimed with glee, coming to a stop in front of the bemused lord of Hueco Mundo. "Can I keep 'im?"

Aizen lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Gin," he chided gently, "you should be more careful what you drag in. You don't know where he's been."

He watched as the other male shifted the position of his precious cargo, moving the hapless Kurosaki boy until he was half-standing on the ground and clutched within his captor's long-armed hold. Gin embraced the boy from behind, practically cuddling him and paying little heed to the fact that the substitute Shinigami's unconscious head was lolling quite amusedly.

If possible, the silver-haired man's smile broadened. "But I promise ta feed and water 'im everyday!" he countered, nuzzling against orange hair. "I'll take good care of him. Even clean up his messes."

Amusement threatened to pour from the evil, or supposedly evil, overlord's tongue. "Now, you know what happened with your last pet, Gin," he reminded his second-in-command. "I still can't eat yakitori."

Gin nodded sagely, fully recalling that incident. "Oh, but this one's not a pet," he purred, running his fingers through the Kurosaki boy's hair. A strange look, which Aizen couldn't identify but certainly was related to the whole _stalker _point he had made earlier, crossed over the former captain's face.

Still, it was in Aizen Sousuke's best interest to keep his heir happy, and so he acquiesced with a gracious wave of his hand. "Very well. Get him cleaned up and you can keep him."

"Aizen-taichou's so generous!" Gin chirped and stooped slightly, scooping the boy into his arms in a style more suited for newlyweds, Kurosaki's head tucked under his chin.

At the abrupt movement, the boy briefly stirred for the first time. "Shut up, Kon," he mumbled. "Five more damn minutes." He fell silent after emitting an oddly content noise, snuggling closer into Gin's chest, fingers curling into the man's clothes.

The look on the former captain's face at this could have given Kusajishi-fukutaichou's sunny exterior a run for its money. And Gin strode happily from the room, whistling what suspiciously sounded like a wedding tune.

On his throne, Aizen rested his chin on his hand, watching his second-in-command with fond amusement. "Ah, young love," he commented with a wistful sigh.

* * *

a/n: Yes, I know. Total crack. But my co-writer and I had just got to thinking about number 32, wondering just what sort of things Gin was prone to bringing back and thus, this was born. Hope you enjoyed!

Check out my profile for information on new series and links to a discussion (and request!) forum.


	58. Mad Season

**Title: Mad Season**

**Characters: The entire cast excluding Karakura town residents but including Chad, Orihime, Inoue, and Uryuu  
**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: OOC, Craziness**

**Words: 4,120**

**Description: Whoever said that a little honesty never hurt anyone? Obviously, they've never met Ukitake Jyuushiro.**

* * *

The noise was pretty much the same as usual. His third-seats were arguing just outside his office door, over something inane he was sure. Ukitake Jyuushiro wasn't even going to begin to guess. He simply tuned them out and continued brushing his pen over the never ending stack of documents on his desk. He reminded himself that he had a meeting in a few minutes, but surely, he could--

"Stupid, brainless oaf!"

"I'm way smarter than a booger-girl like you!"

--surely, he could manage to finish this--

"I respect Ukitake-taichou ten times more than you!"

"Well, I honor him twenty times more than you!"

--to finish this incredibly large stack of --

"I'm more suited to the second-seat than you are!"

"As if midget-forehead!"

--incredibly large stack of papers if he had--

"Quit copying me!"

--if he had--

"Copying you! You're copying me!"

"_**ENOUGH**__**!**_"

Fury etched into his delicate features, the brush in Jyuushiro's hands suddenly snapped into little bits as he shot to his feet. Papers scattered in all directions, and he tossed the broken pieces randomly, sweeping his hands over his desk to watch the paperwork flutter to the floor with much satisfaction.

"I have had enough!" he roared, kicking away his mat and tossing his ink well at a wall, where it exploded in a lovely spatter, causing black marks to drip down the plain white surface.

Outside his office, both of his third-seats froze mid-argument and turned towards the door. The first thing they saw was their captain, methodically destroying anything he could lay his hands on.

"Uki... take-taichou?" Kiyone stuttered, her eyes wide with surprise. "Maybe he needs his tea."

"Are you an idiot?" Sentarou demanded, waving his hands wildly. "It's obvious that he needs his medication. I don't think he's taken it today."

The female Shinigami narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "You're the idiot, idiot! He needs his tea!"

"I just can't stand these four walls!" floated angrily out of the office, seeking their ears and rattling noisily.

But neither paid it any attention.

"Medicine!"

"Tea, monkey-for-brains!"

"Medicine, nose-picker!"

"**Shut up****!**"

Jyuushiro stormed out of his office and fixed his third-seats with the most evil glare he had in his arsenal, which was still rather cute given his comely good looks. Still, it managed to momentarily quell their arguments as they blinked at him stupidly.

"Shut up!" the captain repeated, throwing his hands into the air. "Just shut up for once in your lives! I don't need tea! Stop giving me tea, goddammit! It's not making me any better!"

When Sentarou dared to snicker, furious brown eyes turned his direction.

"And I don't need medicine either! Just for once in your lives _shut_ _your mouths!_"

And for once, they did as they were told, clamping their lips closed.

It was then that Jyuushiro remembered.

Frothing at the mouth, he snarled, "And now I'm late for the captain's meeting."

With that, he turned away from them and stormed out of the room, his reiatsu causing the walls to rattle in his wake. What suspiciously looked like scorch marks marred the former white splendor. Somewhere in Ukitake's office, his favorite framed picture, previously hanging by a very thin thread, snapped and crashed to the ground with an audible smash.

Left behind was absolute silence.

Kiyone's lower lip trembled as her eyes watered. "Is… is he...?" she couldn't even complete her question as her fellow third-seat peered past her to gape at the destruction.

"Maybe we should contact Kyouraku-taichou?"

Kiyone nodded, proving once and for all that the two of them could agree on something. And that Sentarou could make a valid and intelligent suggestion. But really, who was counting?

Meanwhile, in another corner of Seireitei, the vice-captains were conducting their own meeting. It was a weekly affair for the second-seats of their respective squads, and while Sasakibe was technically supposed to chair, Nanao inevitably ended up taking charge. Most attributed this to the first division vice-captain's complete inability to stand out in a crowd or raise his voice above a level higher than Yachiru's.

In any case, the gathered vice-captains were just getting settled, preparing to start when a swirl of furious reiatsu and fluttering white hair stormed past the conference room they had borrowed. Iba, as the last to arrive, promptly stood to close the door he had forgotten to shut when the irate swirl paused, backed up, and looked in with slitted eyes.

For a moment, the crazed man strangely resembled Ukitake-taichou.

Twelve vice-captains looked up in surprise, Iba pausing two steps away from the door, and an uncomfortable silence descended on the room. Even Yachiru was silent, though fidgeting.

Shuuhei was the first to dare break the quiet, noisily clearing his throat. "Ukitake-taichou?" he asked as the captain continued to stare at them. Confusion was clear in his tone.

Ukitake Jyuushiro lifted one hand, causing those nearest to him, namely Omaeda and Sasakibe, to cringe away in distinct fear. With a slightly shaky finger, the captain proceeded to point to them all in turn, though it was in no particular order.

"Suck it up!" he told Momo, zeroing his anger on the petite female first.

"Stop pretending; we know you're in love with him!" he demanded of Nanao, causing a stricken look of pure surprise to take over the normally stoic woman.

"Cut your hair," he told Kira.

"Quit picking fights you can't win," he suggested to Renji.

"One word," he informed Nemu in a matter of fact tone. "Patricide."

Ukitake rounded on Iba, the seventh division vice-captain feeling a bit like a soul in the eyes of a hungry Hollow. "Lose the sunglasses. You're not a gangster," he declared. "You still live with your mother!"

Leaving Iba to wobble unsteadily on his feet at this revelation, the captain continued, turning to next Shuuhei, who was fearing for his dignity. A strange look crossed over Jyuushiro's face. And for a moment, the madness _almost_ disappeared.

He paused, tilted his head to the side, and tried a smile. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" he asked the stunned Shinigami.

Before Shuuhei could even formulate a response, Ukitake continued on his rampage.

"Shave the mustache!" he suggested to Sasakibe.

His fingers pointed not at Matsumoto, but at her rather large... assets. "You're going to give the boy a complex," he proclaimed. "Cover yourself!"

Matsumoto gasped, as if this was new knowledge to her.

"Some men like tall women," he assured Isane, sparing the woman a tongue lashing.

Jyuushiro whirled and found Yachiru, wiggling excitedly in her seat as she awaited her turn on the chopping block. "Ken-chan _is_ great!" the captain announced with a mad sort of glee, shooting her a thumbs up.

She cheered in response.

His eyes fell on Omaeda last, the vice-captain practically quivering in his chair, one finger firmly up his nose. "And you," Ukitake began, voice thick with disdain. "You're just _disgusting_."

With that, feeling immeasurably better, Jyuushiro turned on his heel and left the room, careful to politely shut the door behind him. He took his swirl of furious and crazed reiatsu with him, finally allowing the vice-captains to breathe again. And therefore contemplate the advice they had just been given.

A sniffle pierced the stunned silence. "Aizen-taichou never would have said that," Hinamori whined, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands, lips pulled into a firm pout as she hunched over in her seat. "He's nice. And kind. And handsome. Not like that heathen!" A tear trickled down her face.

Renji let loose a sound of disgust. "Man, he's right," the redhead declared, giving her a look from the corner of his eyes. "You do need to suck it up."

Somehow, the petite female managed a glare even through the tears. "Well, you keep getting your ass kicked," she sniveled in retort.

The sixth division vice-captain was outraged, his face coloring in both embarrassment and anger. "At least, I haven't gone batshit!" he countered, fingers curling into fists.

"A relief for your enemies!" she shot back in a high-pitched voice. "Maybe then you'd be stronger!"

"Oh! It's on, bitch! It's on!"

On the other side of the room, oblivious to the impending scuffle, Shuuhei blinked in bewilderment. "Did I... did I just get asked out on a date?" he asked no one in particular, wondering if he had heard correctly.

Beside him, Kira Izuru fingered the long bangs draping in front of his face. "Yes, senpai. I think you did. Do you really think I should cut my hair?" he questioned, changing the subject with surprising speed.

A cry of pain floated from the other end of the room, which both ignored as Renji and Momo came to blows. Unsurprisingly, the cute girl was particularly vindictive. Renji appeared to be losing.

Shuuhei looked at him and tilted his head to the side, nodding slowly. "I think that it's time for a change. How about now?"

The blond considered it, inclining his head thoughtfully. "Okay. Let's go."

They rose to their feet in tandem, heading for the door without second thought to the meeting that never occurred.

"You really think he meant to ask me on a date?" Shuuhei questioned as they disappeared, leaving the rest of the vice-captains to fend for themselves.

Matsumoto looked mournfully down at her _assets. _"Did he just..." she began but unable to finish her query trailed off in confusion.

Beside her, a triumphant look in her eyes, Nanao pushed up her glasses. "I think that was an order," she replied sagely, appearing far too pleased and completely unperturbed by the revelation Ukitake had thrust upon her.

Her busty companion snorted inelegantly. "Says the woman who lives in denial."

Nanao drew up straight, her back so stiff it might have been carved from granite. "I do not," she argued back shortly, her fingers tapping against the cover of the book she always seemed to be carrying around. "Besides, suffocating Hitsugaya-taichou on a daily basis puts you in denial, doesn't it?"

Fire crackled in the tenth division vice-captain's eyes. "Take that back," Matsumoto growled.

Nanao's nose turned up towards the air. "It's only the truth." She rolled her eyes and added under her breath, "No wonder Ichimaru ran off with Aizen. He probably did it to get away from you."

A cry of rage pierced the room as Matsumoto launched herself at Nanao. The other woman had half a second to drop her jaw in surprise before she was forced to defend herself.

"Ooh! A game!" Yachiru chirped, noticing the two fights already begun. "I wanna play!" she exclaimed, leaping into the fray.

And thus, the carnage was unleashed. Only Shuuhei and Izuru were able to escape the madness as the slim blond made his way to the nearest barber shop, his senpai at his side, still contemplating the supposed date. He not-so-briefly wondered if Ukitake-taichou liked Italian food, knowing a great place in the third district of Rukongai.

Nearby, but not caring enough to notice the surges of power or contemplate their reason, the captains were settling into their own very important meeting to discuss the topic of the week: their respective lunchtime menus. Zaraki was bound and determined to demand something more palatable. Mayuri was still staunchly arguing that as long as it was healthy and full of nutrients, what did taste matter?

It wasn't something that hadn't been seen before.

The meeting was scheduled to begin twenty minutes ago, but Yamamoto patiently awaited Jyuushiro's arrival, having received no knowledge that the usually sickly captain was... well, sick.

There was a low murmur of conversation among the more talkative captains, while the other stoic Shinigami remained... er… stoic. Shunsui was the first to sense his best friend approaching, awakening from a light doze with the sense of a bloodhound. Yamamoto still hadn't figured out how his former student managed to sleep standing up.

"Jyuu-chan?" the tall man murmured, gathering everyone's attention as they, too, began to sense Ukitake's reiatsu approaching.

Suddenly, Shunsui and Yamamoto groaned in tandem. "Not again."

"What?" Hitsugaya asked, frowning as the two eldest captains shared looks of understanding. "What are you talking about?"

Unfortunately, his question was about to be answered.

The doors to the first division chamber flew open, striking the walls behind them with a loud bang. A demon wearing a captain's haori and sporting tangled white hair appeared in the doorway, teeth gnashed and lips curled back in a snarl.

"J-Jyuu-chan?" Shunsui began cautiously.

The monster paused, his eyes sweeping over everyone present, a few stepping backwards at the force of his reiatsu. Truly, an angered Ukitake Jyuushiro was a presence not to be trifled with.

"Don't you even start with me, you lazy &#!#, Shunsui!" the once-beautiful fiend snarled, causing the two nearest people to shy away in the face of a fear they had never felt before. "You ruined both my dates. Both of them! Do you even know how long it's been since I got laid? Byakuya wasn't even alive then!"

Dead, stabbed-through-the-heart, ground-into-ashes, scattered-to-the-four-winds silence followed that admission.

Shunsui swallowed thickly, shrinking back in his stance.

Unbeknownst to the danger, Byakuya grumbled under his breath, "Why am I a reference?" He hadn't intended to be heard, but it was well known that the ears of a demon were swift and sure.

Jyuushiro swung his direction. "You! Trying to kill your own sister! Don't get me started on you!" he hissed, waving his hand in Byakuya's general direction.

"My… aren't we a bright ray of sunshine today," Hitsugaya muttered, petulantly crossing his arms over his chest.

The monster found new prey. "I don't want to hear it from you, grumpypants."

Hitsugaya gaped, mouth dropping visibly.

"Ukitake-taichou," Soifon interjected, sensing that a bloodbath was about to occur, and as commander of the special forces, it was her duty to put an early end to it. "I really don't think--"

"Oh, smile for once, bitch ninja!" the normally kind and pleasant man growled. "If you had, maybe she would have stayed."

The woman's eyes widened in shock as she staggered where she stood. "You... I can't... you..." Words would not come to her.

"And by the way, Kenpachi's a great father!" Jyuushiro announced, making no attempt to hide who he was chiding when he deliberately pointed a finger in Unohana's direction.

She had the grace to look embarrassed.

Suddenly, Zaraki barked out laughter. "Take that, bitch! I knew you talked 'bout me behind my back!" the supposedly bloodthirsty maniac declared, raucously chuckling. "Kind and motherly, my ass."

"Exactly!" Ukitake declared, smiling at the eleventh division captain. "And by the way, Ichigo likes you. Just thought you should know."

Kenpachi grinned smugly at the stunned captains before Ukitake's words pierced his brain. "Wait? What? Ichigo?"

However, the devil wasn't paying him any more attention. He swept his eyes over the room, looking for another victim to feel his wrath. Komamura, like a ninja, somehow avoided detection. And even insane, it seemed, Jyuushiro knew better than to insult the old man.

His gaze fell on Mayuri, but not even Jyuushiro could find words for that bastard. He simply shuddered, then turned on his heels, storming from the room with a last insult tossed over his shoulder.

"No wonder Sousuke left."

The doors slammed shut behind him.

"I'm not grumpy," Hitsugaya stated, his face pulled into something that suspiciously resembled a pout, not that he would ever admit to it.

Byakuya shot the young prodigy a disbelieving look, raising one eyebrow. He muttered something under his breath, but like before, it was heard.

"Shut up, sister-killer," the younger captain snarled back, in no mood to be insulted.

Grey eyes narrowed, his voice growing cold. "I wouldn't expect someone so _young _to be able to understand," Byakuya retorted icily.

Hitsugaya snorted. "Excuses, excuses, pretty boy. Yoruichi-san told me all about the things you did when you were younger. Does the phrase 'Sweetcheeks-san' ring any bells?"

"Dare to repeat that?" the Kuchiki heir growled, fingers inching towards the hilt of his zanpakutou.

Squaring his shoulders, the younger captain looked Byakuya in the eye. "You heard me," he responded, his own hand shaking in an effort to refrain from pulling his sword.

Byakuya's right eyebrow twitched.

"Bitch ninja? _Bitch ninja​​?_" Soifon muttered to herself nearby, completely oblivious to the disaster about to occur. "That's what made her leave? _**Bitch ninja**__**?**_**" **Her voice threatened to grow shrill with disbelief.

Unohana patted her on the hand, trying to calm the other woman. "Now, I'm sure that he didn't mean it like it sounded," she attempted to soothe.

"Don't pretend that you care," Kenpachi inserted, snorting loudly. "You talk 'bout her behind her back, too. I heard what you said to that tall chick 'bout dependency issues or some other crazy shit."

The healer colored, her cheeks turning a vivid pink of embarrassment. "I... I would never..." she stuttered, her voice trailing her off when Soifon turned a sneer towards her.

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped tens of degrees, plummeting to zero as a thin rim of frost coated the floor. The entire chamber took on a faintly pink glow as the _discussion _between Hitsugaya and Byakuya reached new heights.

Mayuri frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand and almost scratching himself with his long fingernail. "What a worthless venture."

"Shut up, freakshow!" someone shouted, but no one was quite sure who as in that moment there was an explosion, a misaimed kidoh that burst through the back wall of the division chamber.

"Yare, yare," Shunsui sighed, taking off his ever-present hat and waving it in front of his face to clear away some of the resulting smoke. "Yama-jii, it's happened again. How much damage do you think he'll cause this time?"

The look on the captain-commander's face was grim. "More than I am willing to accept," he responded gravely.

Something whizzed over his head, bearing suspicious resemblance to one of Soifon's ninja darts.

Momentarily distracted by the ice continuing to gather on the walls, Shunsui nodded in agreement. "We'll have to stop him before he does something irreparable.

"Of course," Yamamoto replied. "But we have to deal with this first," he responded, gesturing towards the other captains who were growing increasingly violent.

Shunsui cringed when he heard what suspiciously sounded like "_Chire_, Senbonzakura."

"It's mad season, all right," he muttered, wondering what it would take this time to stop his buddy from his rampage.

The man winced as the wall to his right suddenly exploded, shattering bits of spirit particles everywhere. He peered through debris and watched as Iba came flying through the empty hole, crumpling to the ground. His dear sweet Nanao-chan was on the other side, looking haggard and rumpled. Beyond the opening, Yachiru was taking down Omaeda and Sasakibe at once, while Isane was treating all of Renji's injuries. Nemu was in the midst of trying to restrain Momo with a binding spell, having limited success.

It was complete and utter chaos.

Shunsui had half a mind to stop them until "_Kakimushire_, Ashisogi Jizou" floated to his ears. The hat returned to his head.

It was going to be a long day.

Meanwhile, Kurosaki Ichigo and his party of three had arrived in Seireitei for a visit, mostly to see Rukia but also to meet up with a few of their other friends. However, strangely enough, other than a multitude of unseated officers, the thirteenth division grounds were deserted.

"What do you think is going on?" Orihime asked as they walked back towards the Seikaimon, unsure of where else to go at the moment.

Ishida pushed up his glasses with one finger. "Kuchiki-san did say that there was a meeting for both the captains and vice-captains today."

"Good point," the girl mused aloud, chewing on her button lip until her eyes caught a familiar figure. "Hey! There's Ukitake-taichou. Ukitake-taichou!" she called out, waving her hand to attract his attention.

Ichigo perked up, peering to get a better look. But then, he frowned at the white-haired mass of something dangerous that noticed them and began storming their way. His every sense prickled, screaming "Danger, Kurosaki Ichigo! Danger!" And his inner Hollow trembled, sensing an even worse monster heading towards them.

A wave of reiatsu washed over the group, leaving all but Ichigo stunned solid. Orihime tried to grasp for him but couldn't quite make it.

"For god's sake!" Ukitake blasted, much to the confusion of all and waving his hands wildly in the air. "The boy's gay! Get over it!" he shouted, staring pointedly at the girl.

Her eyes welled up. "He's _what_?" she asked, voice a tremulous whisper. "I-Ichigo?"

For the most part, the substitute Shinigami was frozen in absolute mortification. It definitely wasn't the way he planned on coming out.

Jyuushiro, however, was already turning on Ishida. "Blue crosses don't go with everything," he chided. "Shunsui has better dress sense, and he wears pink flowers!"

The Quincy, for his part, was horrified at the prospect of Kyouraku Shunsui having better style than he. Everyone knew that the man was an unmitigated drunkard with an abysmal fashion sense.

Chad, so similar to Komamura, seemed to have the same ninja-like ability to blend into the shadows, even when there weren't any. He somehow managed to escape Ukitake's notice as the captain whirled on the last member of the group.

"And you!" Jyuushiro declared, shaking his finger at Ichigo, who was wondering how else the man could mortify him. "You're the only one I actually like!"

Ichigo blinked. "I… what?"

"My apologies for our dates," the captain continued, oblivious to the sniffling Orihime or the gaping Ishida. "You're a great kisser, but I don't think we're going to work out. I'd love to remain friends though. You make great taiyaki."

The substitute Shinigami turned a fiery red as Jyuushiro leaned in close, having enough grace to lower his tone so that the others couldn't hear. "Besides, I know an eyepatch-wearing captain is more your flavor, ne?" The older man winked, to Ichigo's mortification, and smiled as if he had uncovered some great secret.

Suddenly, before any of Ichigo and his party of three could manage to formulate a response, a pink blur appeared in front of them in a whirl of flowery cologne and a badly designed haori.

"Pardon," said the guy who Ichigo recognized as being drunk all the time, tipping his hat at the two of them.

"Shunsui!" Ukitake hissed, his eyes looking around for an escape as he backed up one step. But he was effectively trapped between two exits and was on the verge of calculating how high he would need to jump.

The brunet waggled a finger. "Don't think so, Jyuu-chan. You're not going to continue your rampage on my watch, you naughty boy."

And before anyone could so much as blink, Shunsui jerked out one of his swords and slammed the hilt into Ukitake's forehead, the same way one would when conducting a soul burial. Jyuushiro's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he slumped, but Shunsui was faster than that, scooping up his unconscious best friend and tossing him over his shoulder. The limp and finally subdued demon was silent.

Orihime rubbed her hands together nervously. "Anou... is he okay?"

The drunk-guy turned towards them, slipping his sword back into his obi and grinning apologetically at him. "Sorry about my buddy here. He didn't mean any harm. Don't worry, Orihime-chan; he'll be just fine after a good rest."

Ishida pushed up his glasses. "No harm?" he repeated in a blank voice.

"Something like that."

When Ukitake made a strange groaning noise and twitched, Shunsui hurriedly said his farewells and promptly flashed away, leaving Ichigo and his friends to stare in bewilderment.

Chad coughed, the first indication he had made of his presence.

Ichigo nodded. "Yeah, I think that about sums it up," he responded to Chad's wordless statement. Pushing Ukitake's mad behavior from his mind, he gestured everyone to follow him. "Come on, let's go find Rukia. Maybe she has an explanation."

They trailed after their leader like any good followers would do.

"Anou... Kurosaki-kun? Are you really gay?" Orihime asked, the question practically bursting from her in a desperate need to be answered.

Ichigo groaned.

--

a/n: I have no explanation for myself. Seriously. And geeze, Komamura's like seven feet tall but ya never notice him. Honestly. He's there but who sees him?

Expect a sequel. The aftermath to Ukitake's rampage. I don't know when I'll finish it, but expect a sequel.

Thanks for reading! I look forward to your comments! Oh, and if any of you like Byakuya/Renji, I've a separate oneshot on Mediaminer or AFF that may not be entirely FF safe so I moved it there. It's called _Hero Worship_. Check it out if you're interested.

Thanks!


	59. Fashion Emergency

**Title: Fashion Emergency**

**Pairings/Characters: Chad, Isshin**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Insanity**

**Words: 661**

**Description: Chad discovers it might be time to rethink his shopping choices.**

* * *

The music was chipper and bubbly, a nice mix of pop vocals and dance-like beats. It poured through the speakers at an obnoxious volume, which tended to waft out into the hallway of the mall. Bright colors were nearly blinding as they covered each one of the three walls and lined every display crowding the sales floor. Despite all that, however, the shop was packed full of customers.

Chad, stoic as usual, didn't let it bother him in the slightest. He waded into the crowd, a few extra funds in his savings allowing him one extra purchase. He had been looking forward to getting a new shirt. Perhaps something in a palm tree print. Tan and bright green maybe.

The teenager idly poked through the racks and let his eyes scan the wall, looking for something to perk his interest. Hangers scraped along the metal bars, adding to the disjointed pop beat blaring from the speakers. Luckily, having spent a good deal of his time around Keigo, Chad had learned to tune out annoying noises.

Just when he was beginning to believe that he would be leaving the store a disappointed customer, Chad caught sight of something from the corner of his eye. A single shirt, looking to be the exact size that he needed, hanging from a rack alone and forgotten in the corner. Lo and behold, it was even tan with a palm print.

How lucky could he be?

Using his superior height and reach, Chad moved his arm around a display, one finger hooking part of hanger. He tugged but met resistance. Frowning, he tried again, and to his surprise, discovered that someone else was doing much the same.

Chad blinked, but didn't relinquish his hold on the desired shirt. He slowly turned his head to the side to assess his rival.

"Sado-chan?" asked the stranger who actually wasn't a stranger. "You shop here, too?"

Chad couldn't help but blink again. "Kurosaki-san?" he replied in stunned amazement.

What was Ichigo's father doing here? And giving him that goofy grin, for that matter.

Then, his eyes flickered to the shirt partially in his possession. Ichigo's father had control of the other half. The answer came to him, loud and disturbingly clear. Neither of them were ready to acquiesce to the other.

"You have great style," Kurosaki-san chirped, his grin stretching wide across his face as he winked at Chad.

Chad was finding it increasingly harder to believe that this smiley creature was Ichigo's father. Perhaps his friend was adopted, as some of their schoolmates had suggested on numerous occasions.

"Just like me!" the older man added, pointing to himself with his thumb.

A great sense of horror overwhelmed the tall half-Mexican. He felt himself sweatdrop, just like in anime, as he abruptly released his hold on the shirt.

"Excuse me, Kurosaki-san," he quickly lied. "I have to go and... do something."

Before the doctor could even blink, Chad was turning on his heels and walking with great determination towards the door, trying his best not to push the other shoppers out of his way. But Kurosaki-san could not be silent for long.

"Come by for dinner sometime, Sado-kun!" Ichigo's father called out to him in a voice louder than the music blaring from the speakers. He was even waving in an overly broad manner, the hard-won shirt dangling from his other hand. "We can share since it appears we wear the same size!"

Chad hurried away even faster, nearly diving out of the store and into the safety of the crowded walkway between shops. Inwardly, he vowed that it was time he gave in and changed his wardrobe. The last thing he wanted was to dress like that insane man for the rest of his life. He didn't even know where to begin, but luckily one of his best friends had a great sense of style. He would just have to ask Ishida.

Wouldn't the Quincy just be thrilled?

* * *

AN: Seriously, don't they look like they shop at the same store?


	60. Wanted: Male, Single, Captain

**Title: Wanted: Single, Male, and Captain**

**Pairings/Characters: Unohana/Hitsugaya**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Crack pairing**

**Words: 1066**

**Description: Because honestly, in her position, her choice of dates was limited. **

**Dedication: For Satan Junior no Super Hentai who requested a Unohana/Hitsu a lonnng time ago. I hope you like!**

* * *

Unohana Retsu wasn't one to play around when there was a task to be completed. Therefore, when she began to feel a hint of loneliness, a tingle of longing, she knew that it was time to go over her options. In a purely logical fashion, very methodical as most doctors are want to do, she listed her choices and carefully narrowed it down to one.

She immediately dismissed anyone who wasn't at least captain level. Second-seats and below were likely to be intimidated by her power, not to mention other qualities. To that, she wanted to be able to speak to her potential companion on an intellectual level, and many of the lower seats were well… idiots.

Yamamoto-soutaichou was far too _aged_, if she wanted to be polite, for her to even consider a relationship. That didn't even cover the fact that he was her boss, and Retsu was far too wise to think that had a possibility of working out to either of their satisfaction. And he was old and growing rather senile, if she was completely honest.

Conversely, she had learned the hard and embarrassing way that she was not into other women, so Soifon-taichou was immediately checked off her list. Besides, even if she had been attracted to females, Retsu had the feeling that the perpetually grim and boring special forces commander would not be suited for her. She liked a little spice in her life, not someone as mind-numbingly dull and tedious as her paperwork.

Ichimaru-taichou had parental issues that Retsu didn't even want to delve into. He was nice in an ironic and almost sarcastic sort of way, but she didn't want the grinning man to develop any complexes, Oedipus or otherwise. She had enough problems treating her already existing patients; she didn't want to add a potentially unstable, love-struck captain to the mix.

Aizen Sousuke was too perfect, so much so that even she was intimidated by his friendly smile and oh-so-kind eyes. He was so humble that she felt downright egotistical next to him, and he had far too many other admirers for her to ever be completely at ease. Further, though she couldn't quite place the feeling, there was always a small undercurrent of not-quite-rightness that she associated with him.

Kuchiki Byakuya was still pining after his dead wife. A real shame since he was a rather lovely, if socially awkward, man. He had the most expressive eyes, completely belying his stoic outer surface. Not to mention that his hair was gorgeous, and she often fantasized about running her fingers through the silky, black strands.

Komamura-taichou was a kind individual, but unfortunately, Retsu couldn't get past the fact that he was not quite human. He made for an excellent friend and a steadfast companion, but she wasn't into fur or snouts, not certain how they would ever really work given their respective size differences. Not even in her much, much younger and wilder years would she have tried.

And from there came Tousen-taichou. Even if the man weren't blind, Retsu was certain that he wouldn't notice a naked women if she fell on him. Moreover, he only ever seemed interested in justice, which was a fine construct but not enough to keep a conversation alive after several hours. She still idly wondered if he and Komamura-taichou were friends because the seventh division captain could be asleep behind that mask and yet still act as if he were listening. Or perhaps Komamura Sajin was a glutton for punishment.

Retsu paused in her ponderings and looked back over her list. It appeared that she had forgotten the infamous Kyouraku Shunsui. Perhaps that was because a certain part of her mind blocked the man and his wayward hands out of a sense of self-preservation. His status as a lush was just as much a turn off, especially when considering all the times she had treated him for alcohol poisoning. In any case, Kyouraku-taichou was a definitive no, leaving her free to move along to the next choice.

Zaraki Kenpachi was… well, just saying his name was an explanation in itself. It wasn't that she disliked the eleventh division captain or his bloodthirsty, warlike ways. Honestly, the biggest mark against him as a potential date was Yachiru. Retsu was far too young to be anyone's mother, regardless of what others said behind her back, and besides, she mothered her own squad enough as it was. Plus, there remained the tiny detail that most of the eleventh was terrified of her, though she couldn't imagine why.

Kurotsuchi-taichou needed no explanation. She wasn't at all interested in becoming a lab experiment or witnessing any either.

Ukitake Jyuushiro was a kind and gentle man, who she was certain would treat her properly, but Retsu just couldn't see herself with him. The doctor/patient aspect of their relationship was extremely off-putting. There were only so many times she could treat his various ailments before they killed any and all attraction. Unfortunate perhaps, but that was the fact of the matter.

Looking at her list of cross-marks and heavy lines, Retsu sighed to herself. There was only one person left. She couldn't help but smile, wondering just how Hitsugaya-taichou would take the news. Little did he know, but he had a date for this Friday evening. After all, despite the fact that he was the youngest, he was the most mature of the lot. Calm, intelligent, a true gentleman. And she had to admit to finding his icy temperament just a little bit cute. Who could resist that almost pouty scowl?

Even better, the young captain had yet to be tainted by his older but not wiser fellows, teaching him all of the wrong ways to attract and please a woman. He could still be molded, shaped into a fine man, and all it would take was a little coaxing on her part. Plus, he seemed to appreciate older women, though Hinamori-fukutaichou was apparently a thing of the past, a fleeting childhood crush.

Her decision made, Retsu folded the piece of paper and hid it into her desk where no one would be able to find it, most certainly not her gossip-hungry third-seat.

It was time that she paid a visit to the tenth division.

--

a/n: Thanks for reading! Glad you enjoyed! Check out some of my other pieces while waiting for an update. If you're an AMV fan, you might try checking out some of my amvs. See my profile for links. Thanks!


	61. Strangely Average

**Title: Strangely Average**

**Pairings/Characters: Uryuu/Hanatarou**

**Rating: T**

Warning: Crack pairing. Takes place somewhere after Soul Society Arc but before all the crap with the Bount in the Bount Arc. 

**Words: 988**

**Description: He was a nothing, a nobody, but somehow, Uryuu was terribly intrigued. **

**Dedication: For an anonymous reviewer on adultfanfiction who wanted an Ishida/Hanatarou. **

* * *

The first time he met the slim, slightly shaking man was when he had walked into a convenience store, there due to a late-night craving. Uryuu knew on sight and sense that the timid person behind the counter was one of the Shinigami, and somehow, the young man had known who he was as well.

Uryuu had often heard Ichigo talk about the fourth division healer who had helped he and Ganju during their invasion of Seireitei, but the Quincy had always imagined him to be someone bigger, a bit stronger looking. But the frail, short, almost boyish man in front of him, smiling gently as he introduced himself, was definitely not what Uryuu had expected.

"Konban wa, Ishida-san," the healer said with a bow of his head as he took the items Uryuu had been holding and proceeded to ring them.

Uryuu blinked, recognizing the reiatsu as Shinigami but not the person himself. "Evening…" he trailed off, hoping the other male would introduce himself.

The Shinigami startled as if ashamed of his lack of propriety. "Oh! Gomen! I am Yamada Hanatarou," the smaller male replied with another respective bow. "Ichigo-san told me about you."

He pushed up his glasses with one finger. "You're the healer," the Quincy responded, clarity coming to him at the familiar name. "Though I should have known from your reiatsu."

Hanatarou gave another one of those hesitant smiles. "Ichigo-san mentioned me?" he questioned, obviously pleased by this turn of events and yet surprised as well.

There was something about that smile that did Uryuu in, feeling a strange tingle in his belly. "What are you doing here, Yamada-san?" He glanced around pointedly.

"Vacation," the Shinigami chirped before rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "Though I forgot and came without money. Luckily, the owner is really nice. He helped me, even though he didn't know me at all."

'Likely a pervert,' Uryuu thought automatically, taking in Hanatarou's strangely innocent expression and all too trusting eyes. He felt indignant on the healer's behalf, dangerous possibilities flashing through his mind.

The register dinged as it spat out the Quincy's change. He accepted it and his bag of groceries without thought.

"How long are you staying?" he asked, the inquiry slipping out before he could even guess its origin.

"A couple of weeks," Hanatarou cheerily responded, brightening considerably. "Unohana-taichou says I deserve the break."

"Yamada-san! I need help in the back!" a voice interrupted their conversation, causing the slim Shinigami to startle.

Uryuu assumed it was Hanatarou's manager.

The healer hunched his shoulders in an apologetic manner. "Ah, gomen, Ishida-san, I have to go. It was nice meeting you." He bowed again before hurrying into the back.

Uryuu was left blinking, his groceries dangling from one hand before he had turned and left. He expected to never see Hanatarou again, but something had him returning time and time again to that shop. Pure curiosity perhaps. He wasn't quite sure.

There was something about the fourth division Shinigami that captured his interest. The frailty belying inner strength maybe. Or the knowledge that this small creature had thought to stand up to Kuchiki Byakuya on his own for the sake of his beliefs. Yamada Hanatarou had patched Ichigo together more times than Uryuu could count.

Maybe it was those reasons that Uryuu found himself again standing in the convenience store, his fourth visit that week, despite the fact that his refrigerator at home was fully stocked. This late at night, the shop was devoid of customers, although he could hear the sound of the manager puttering around in the back. He never seemed to be doing any real work.

Hanatarou was working the counter once again, idly cleaning it with a cloth, and he looked up as the Quincy approached the register. "Ishida-san," he greeted with a smile that was growing increasingly familiar. "Do you need help finding something?"

He had noticed that Uryuu wasn't carrying anything.

The teenager shook his head. "Actually," he began, taking in a breath, "I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night?"

Blinking, Hanatarou seemed confused before he answered. "I am. Why?"

Uryuu pushed his glasses up with one finger, trying to hide behind the reflective surface. "There's a new sushi bar opening up down the street. I thought you might like to try it."

Somehow, this strangely average creature had managed to ensnare him. There was nothing special about him at all. He was small, and he was frail, not particularly strong. He lacked the same presence as someone like Kurosaki. Yet, it was impossible to ignore him, impossible to push his existence to the back of Uryuu's mind.

It was entirely baffling.

He wasn't a captain or even a vice-captain. He was timid and nervous, prone to dropping things or tripping over his own feet. He was far too kind and far too trusting. Yet, he was bold enough to steal a key to save a person he thought should not die. He was the type to blend in the background yet forced his way to the forefront with a quiet determination.

Hanatarou had managed to intrigue him in the same manner that Kurosaki had. And yet, strangely different as well. While Uryuu was content to stand by and watch where his connection with Ichigo would take him, he had a more vested interest in the healer. He _wanted_ to know more, to know what else was gliding beneath the surface of calm that was Yamada Hanatarou.

The Quincy waited, seconds stretching into beads of anxious sweat that trickled down his spine. The logical side of his brain recognized that not even half a minute had passed but that didn't stop him from believing it to be longer.

Hanatarou fidgeted and then lifted those very blue eyes. "Okay."

And with one simple answer, one simple word, Uryuu's fate was sealed.

--

a/n: Aww, they're just too cute. Thanks for reading! I'm still working hard on all requests and such so don't worry!


	62. Oral Fixation

**Title: Oral Fixation**

**Characters: Shinji, Nnoitra, Hiyori**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Crack, Language, and So, So Stupid**

**Words: 373**

**Description: Some might say that it was an oral fixation, while Hiyori's sure that he's just an idiot. **

* * *

"Rings."

"Tattoos."

A moment of silence as each sized up his opponent, trying to decide his likelihood of victory. After a quick check of reiatsu, it was determined that they were on par or at least close enough that victory wouldn't be swift but long in coming after a painful and bloody duel. Not that either minded too much.

A jaw squared firmly. "The ladies enjoy rings."

There was a scoff. "Who cares about chicks?" came the dismissive response. "Tattoos look cooler."

The blond man balanced his sword on his shoulder, narrowing his eyes in thought. "I can change how it looks."

"Mine hurt more."

Another impasse.

The taller male leaned down until he was nearly eye to eye with his opponent. "My blade has two sides."

The other rolled his eyes. "Now, you're just changin' the subject." He paused and then considered, "I'll bet mine's longer."

There was a bark of laughter. "What's with the coat?"

"What's with the spoon?"

"Rings."

"Tattoos."

And they were back to square one.

"Tell ya what," began the shorter of the two as he waved his hand over his face, a Hollow's mask appearing. "What do ya say, winner's right?" he suggested, voice taking on a low, echoing note.

"I'll kick your ass any day, overbite." A smile stretched wide across his face, and he licked his lips, long tongue proudly displaying inked black lines.

"You're one ta talk." Eyes glowed briefly behind a white, Egyptian-style mask. "Bring it on, spoon-head. Bring it on."

On the ground, watching the ridiculous spectacle above her, Hiyori rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath.

It was difficult to tell which person she meant.

Nevertheless, she settled in to enjoy the show. It didn't matter that they had been arguing over the trivial point for the past three hours. One would think that a hatred for the Shinigami would bind the two, Arrancar and Vizard, together. But then again, no one had ever accused Shinji of having any brains, Hiyori especially.

Besides, it would probably do him some good to get his ass kicked once in a while. Watching it was almost as good as doing it herself.

Almost.

--

AN: In case you didn't get it, one was Hirako Shinji and the other Jiruga Nnoitra. Thanks for reading! I just thought I'd give both Espada and Arrancar a try and this crack is what I came up with. -sweatdrops- Perhaps I should stick to what I know best.


	63. Of Understanding

**Title: Of Understanding**

**Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Byakuya, Byakuya/Hisana (past)**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Implied Yaoi**

**Words: 884**

**Description: Because no matter what anyone says, the past cannot be easily forgotten. Part of _Never Been Kissed_ series, companion to Drabbles 1, 9, 34, 42, 47, and 54.**

* * *

There were times when Ichigo caught that gleam in his lover's eyes, when Byakuya didn't notice he was looking. It was moments when the captain seemed caught by something in the past, something that wasn't readily forgotten no matter how much time had passed.

Ichigo knew without having to ask what his lover thought of then; it was as plain to read as every change in emotion of those expressive eyes. It wasn't easy to completely forget about a first love, first _true_ love. Ichigo understood that. And he knew that Byakuya wasn't making him some cheap replacement or wishing he were someone else. The man wasn't the type to do that.

Contrary to popular belief, Rukia wasn't a replacement for that woman either. Ichigo was absolutely certain that Byakuya loved his adopted sister, even if he had trouble showing it. His lover couldn't help being socially retarded; that came with the territory of the angsting noble. There were things one just couldn't learn when wrapped in layers of refinery and manners, when held to a certain standard the rest of the world could easily escape.

All Ichigo could do at those times was be there, silent and waiting, letting that moment pass when Byakuya's heart drifted to what had been. He would sip at his tea, stare off into the night, viewing something only his eyes could see, and he would ache. Something in him would hurt, a wound that was impossible to cure with any sort of kidoh, not that Ichigo was particularly skilled at such things anyway.

The only thing he could do in those times was soothe the injury. It was too much to think that he could completely heal Byakuya in such a short time. After all, the man had carried his pain as if it were a cloak, as if it were the only thing he could cling to. It wasn't something easily let go. But he was trying to move forward, and that was all Ichigo could ask for. He wasn't stupid enough to demand what Byakuya wasn't ready to give.

He hated her sometimes, that woman who made this confident man collapse inside himself. Who made him question his own beliefs. The same person who couldn't have been bothered to love her husband or take care of her own damn sister. When Ichigo caught that look in Byakuya's eyes, he never could stop that brief stab of anger from flashing through him, when he wanted nothing more than to go back in time and shake that woman for causing such pain.

Ichigo occasionally wondered, more often than he should have, that maybe she hadn't cared for her husband as she should have. It was so blatantly obvious that Byakuya wasn't grieving for the love he had lost but the love he had never been given. Ichigo wondered if it might have been better had the woman turned him down, knowing that she couldn't possibly be what he wanted. Who knew how different things could have been?

But then, Byakuya never would have had reason to seek out Rukia, and Ichigo might not have become a Shinigami. It was possible that someone else might have stumbled on him, bringing out his abilities, but things wouldn't have been like they were now. So he supposed in some grudging manner that was the one decent outcome to the whole heart-breaking affair.

The only one though. Ichigo wasn't giving that woman any more credit than she was due.

Any other person would have been irritated by Byakuya's behavior, demanding all his attention or all his time. They wouldn't have been able to understand that a person couldn't just throw away pain as if it were a piece of used parchment or a broken waraji.

Ichigo was different. It didn't bother him, those moments when Byakuya thought of someone else. He understood. Really and truly, he understood.

Byakuya had been married, had loved, had devoted his heart to someone else. He must have felt powerless when she died, despite his own strength. It was something his skill and strength couldn't fix, no matter how he trained or what he learned. That woman might have been his only freedom from the heavy and dutiful chains placed upon him.

Ichigo couldn't begrudge Byakuya his grief, even if it was five decades old. Shinigami lived for a long time, longer than he could really comprehend. Fifty years might have only been a few months for the sixth-division captain. Or it could have agonizingly dragged on, seeming like centuries.

Besides, those brief spots of time when Byakuya was distant, when he didn't want the comfort, were slowly getting few and farther between. The cherished, half-smiles reserved for Ichigo and Ichigo alone were becoming far more frequent.

It was a slow process, a careful easing into complete trust and possibly even love. The substitute Shinigami hadn't expected a mad dive into forever from the outset. He was simply glad that he could ease the pain in whatever way he could.

Byakuya was healing, little by little, even gradually opening up to the sister he hadn't acknowledged until recently. It was a start, slow and stuttering, like a car that hadn't been run in ages, but it was a beginning.

And that was all Ichigo ever wanted.

--

a/n: -sniff- These two are just too adorable. I thought it was time to inject some seriousness in this series within a series. I wanted to show that while it was all comedic, I hadn't completely forgotten about Byakuya or Ichigo's past and pain. There will be another one from Byakuya's POV eventually, detailing his acceptance of Ichigo's own sadness. I haven't written it yet, but I'm working on it.

Thanks for reading! And I hope you enjoyed! I look forward to your comments.


	64. Neat Little Boxes

**Title: Neat, Little Boxes**

**Characters: Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Possible Spoilers**

**Words: 622**

**Description: Everything has its placed, locked inside where it is easy to bear and forget… if only for a little while. **

* * *

He's like a hero to them, strong and certain. Unbeatable. Unbreakable even, though he does bleed and hurt like any ordinary mortal. But his strength seems unending, as if it's pulled from a wellspring of eternal victory. And he's never really lost. Not where it counts. No one has ever died who shouldn't, the loss of his mother notwithstanding. But he can't be expected to be responsible for that. He was only a child, after all.

He seems as if he cannot be shattered, as if he can shake off anything because he knows what must be done. He's gone through countless battles and sufferings, only to emerge stronger than before. Seemingly unscathed. Seemingly unbothered.

But that's all on the surface; that's all on the outside, where it's painfully easy to see. It's better that way for them all. It's better that they believe him untouchable; otherwise, they might try to protect him. It's better for himself because he would break. He would shatter. He would fall apart if he tries to think about any of that right now.

He packs it away where no one can see, everything that's happened to him. He puts it all inside his brain, shoved into neat, little boxes. Carefully marked and categorized. It makes it easier to bear, easier to handle.

He shoves "becoming a Shinigami" into _Life-Altering Experiences_.

He tucks "defeating my Hollow" within _The Far Corner_, the dark place that he doesn't want to remember anytime soon. Possibly never, if he could manage it.

The time everyone thought he and Renji were lovers, even that's been tucked into _Memories I'd Rather Never Remember... Ever_. Or the one unfortunate incident when he caught a glimpse of Rukia's panties, his _sister's_ underwear, it's been locked up, too. Thank heavens.

He's been bitten and slashed, stabbed, sawed at, blown up, broken, and beaten more times than he could count. Some of the scars are still there. Some aren't thanks to Orihime. He doesn't know which he would rather have. But the memories are always present, lurking in the back of his mind. They stay within _The Times I Bled_. There's even a separate category for _The Times I Bled For Myself_. And one for _The Times I Wished I Could Bleed_.

Understandably, the last two are rather sparse.

It's no surprise that he's resorted to this method. He's fought more battles in the past year than he's ever had to suffer at school thanks to his hair color. He's gone through more changes than he can adapt to, has nearly died more times than he has really managed to live. He's almost lost people dear to him, and that's just not something a person wants to live through more than once.

He knows. He's been there.

And it's not as if he's Superman or any other superhero. Just because he doesn't crack and break under the obvious pressure doesn't mean it's not still there, seething beneath the surface. He just hides it better than others. Categorizes it. Locks it away until he knows he can look at it safely.

Maybe someday he will open them up, one by one, and learn how to deal with the pain involved in each memory, each moment he lived through. Perhaps by then, they won't be so difficult to see. Maybe he might even find a smile.

Right now though… right now, he knows he can't. He can't afford to lose it at this point in time. He can't afford to look weak, to fall apart when there are so many who need him. He can't protect everyone if he's jagged, large edges rather than neat, little boxes.

And there's even a box for that, too. _Someone Please Save Me._

* * *

a/n: I'm particularly fond of this piece, even it is more serious than my usual bits. Thanks for reading! And I've gotten about 70 of my requests written so expect to see some of those popping up soon. Thanks!


	65. Rukia's Dating Service Kenpachi

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Kenpachi**

**Pairings/Characters: Kenpachi, Ichigo, Yachiru**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Blood, Language**

**Words: 622**

**Description: Considering the pairing of the day, he should have expected so much worse. **

* * *

His sword bit through another Hollow, and he felt a satisfying lurch before ripping it free, the Hollow screeching as it dissolved into bits. Ichigo had only milliseconds to revel in his victory before he was turning and leaping into the air, slashing viciously at yet another of the lost souls.

Around him, he could hear the sounds of Kenpachi's laughter, filling the air. Yachiru, on his shoulder, giggled as she leapt around and dispatched her own. Blood splattered everywhere, spilling to the ground. A few dismembered limbs flew through the air as though pretending to be birds on their final flight. Yachiru's handiwork. She was _still _laughing.

And still, the Hollows came with no regards to their own safety, despite the numbers of their own already dispatched.

Ichigo didn't know how Kenpachi had done it, had found the one place that seemed to attract Hollows like a magnet. But here, they were. And there, all of them were. And Ichigo had never felt so exhausted in his life. It was a good kind of fatigue though. These Hollows were nothing compared to the Arrancar, but it was still a fight. And although he wasn't exactly like Kenpachi, he could admit to enjoying it.

He pushed the scary thought from his mind that Yachiru considered this a "play date", just as he ignored the reason behind Hollow-hunting with Kenpachi in the first place. That damn woman and her scheming.

Sure, he was having a good time. He liked tearing his way through enemies without having to worry about Grimmjow suddenly appearing and trying to fight him like always. It was sort of freeing, and there were a lot fewer expectations.

However, he didn't see himself wanting to kiss Kenpachi. Like ever. So while he was having fun and a great time, he wasn't planning on really dating the eleventh division captain anytime soon.

At least, he had made a friend... errr… two since Yachiru was invariably included in the picture.

With an oomph, he felt a weight settle on his shoulder. He swung Zangetsu once again, decapitating a strange frog thing, not even having to look to see what his burden was.

"Yay!" Yachiru chirped excitedly, wriggling with that usual boundless energy. "Ichi, will have ta come hunting with us again!"

In front of him, Zaraki suddenly loomed, teeth bared in his version of an innocent grin. "Good idea after all. Eh, brat?"

She nodded with excitement, making the leap from Ichigo's shoulder to Kenpachi's in a manner of seconds. It took that long for the substitute Shinigami to realize that all the Hollows were gone. He resisted the urge to collapse on the ground out of sheer fatigue. He knew his robes were in desperate need of cleaning, that they were torn from lucky strikes and stained in blood.

But he still felt pretty damn good.

Zaraki grunted and sheathed his sword, looking only mildly winded. He cracked his neck, a rather violent motion.

"Well, I'm hungry. Whatcha say, kid? Wanna come back to the eleventh?"

Ichigo pondered this for all of a second before shrugging. "Why not?"

The captain looked at him, blinked, and then guffawed, loud and deep. He clapped a hand down on Ichigo's shoulder and back briefly as Yachiru propped herself up on her elbows, watching the boy intently.

"And then, _we_ can fight," the man added with determination, eye taking on a distinctly feral gleam as he turned and walked away, expecting the substitute Shinigami to follow him.

Ichigo sighed and trailed along. He wasn't going to escape fully unscathed, after all.

Che. Rukia was healing all his injuries whether she liked it or not.

That damn bitch.

But at least, it had been fun.

--

a/n: I've got a bunch of these all stored up so I'll probably be updating quite frequently in the coming weeks which means you'll start to see some of those requests appear. Thanks! I look forward to your comments!


	66. One Night Stand

**Title: One Night Stand**

**Pairings/Characters: Toushirou/Shuuhei, Jyuushiro, Shunsui**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: a kiss between males, implications of sex**

**Words: 1906**

**Description: Shuuhei takes denial to a whole new level. **

* * *

Shuuhei stood outside of Ukitake-taichou's house and tried not to fidget, resisting the urge to double-check and make sure his clothes weren't unnecessarily wrinkled. He knew that the captain didn't really mind, but still, the impulse was there. This was only a casual dinner between them, after all, though he knew Toushirou had been invited. Plus, he could only assume that Kyouraku-taichou would be there as well. That was a given.

Raking a hand through his disarrayed hair, the vice-captain raised a hand to knock, but it slid open before he could do much of anything. A smiling Ukitake Jyuushiro greeted him, Shunsui very obviously peeking over his shoulder.

"Evening, Shuuhei. Come on in."

He pushed the door open, gesturing for his guest to come inside.

Taking a deep breath, Shuuhei stepped within. "Thank you, Ukitake-taichou. For the invite, as well."

"It's Jyuushiro," the white-haired captain corrected with a smile. "And you've been working hard. It's only fair."

Shuuhei could concede his point.

They led him into the parlor and not the dining room as he had expected. Perhaps they expected conversation first. He wouldn't be surprised if that were so. Therefore, Shuuhei settled down on a rather plush cushion and faced the two captains, waiting for communication to begin. But before either could even get a word in, his stomach made an embarrassing and rather loud grumble.

He reddened before he could stop himself. "Sorry. I haven't eaten anything today."

Shunsui waved him off, looking rather nonchalant as he sprawled comfortably across the floor. "You've been busy, right? Jyuu-chan doesn't mind."

"Exactly," the thirteenth-division captain confirmed, beaming merrily. "Besides, we'll start dinner as soon as your boyfriend gets here."

Shuuhei blinked slowly. "Ehh... boyfriend?" he repeated, feeling as if he were suddenly sweating profusely. "I... I don't have a boyfriend."

"Then, what do you call your _liaison_ with Shirou-chan?" Jyuushiro asked, frowning as if disappointed or disapproving. "It's not serious?"

Flustered didn't even begin to describe the state Shuuhei was rapidly approaching. "It was only a one-night stand!"

That was his usual response whenever anyone asked The Question. They always accepted it and moved on, except for The Brave Few. Shunsui appeared to be a member of The Brave Few.

The flowery captain was suddenly triumphant. "That's been going on for three years," he declared with the assurance of one who was proud of his knowledge. "And you live with the man... er, boy... whatever! Face it, Shuu-chan. You're in love!"

The vice-captain viciously fought the urge to redden further. "It's convenient," he protested, feeling as if he were being interrogated. "And we're just friends!"

The two best friends for millennia exchanged pointed glances, that odd ability to converse without speaking aloud.

Shunsui grinned. "Now, if that excuse worked, we would have successfully fought off those rumors years ago. Eh, Jyuu-chan?" he asked, nudging the other man with an elbow as he rolled his eyes. "Especially since in our case, what we say is actually true."

Meanwhile, Shuuhei was having a panic attack of epic proportions.

'_They know? How could they know?' _

He inwardly groaned, curling his fists in an attempt to rein in the emotions threatening to pour out.

'_Honestly, how could they __**not **__know? Gods, Toushirou is going to turn me into an ice cube before the night is through. I'm certain this will somehow be my fault.' _

Sensing that his guest was becoming agitated, Jyuushiro thought it prudent to speak up. "It's alright," he soothed. "It is not like it's the end of the world."

Shunsui snorted. "Nope. It's only Seireitei's worst kept secret. Even more so than Sousuke and Kisuke-chan. Everybody and their brother knew about _that_ one."

Shuuhei was momentarily calmed by that bit of revealing information, not that he ever wanted to know that much about Aizen or the exiled former captain. However, his brief instant of peace didn't prepare him for the next bombardment as Shunsui blithely continued.

"Gods, even Tetsuzaemon's figured it out, and he's about as perceptive as the burnt side of toast." He grinned roguishly and scratched at his bearded chin.

Even though he wasn't entirely certain what toast had to do with anything, Shuuhei still felt himself paling just a bit. Yes, he was definitely in for a frozen death. But it wasn't his fault. He had tried to keep it a secret. Toushirou was the one who said they should live together. And sleep in the same bed. Who was he to argue? He was just Shuuhei, the vice-captain, the occasional groper, and knitter of winter scarves.

It wasn't _his _fault that Matsumoto had come one morning to wake her captain up only to find, _surprise_… there was another person in his bed. Another male, who was naked. And cuddling. Well, more than cuddling. And wow, he hadn't even known her eyes could get that big.

Shuuhei winced in retrospect.

Or her voice that astonishingly shrill either.

Somewhere, outside his rampantly running thoughts, he heard Uki--Jyuushiro speak.

"It's really nothing to worry about," the older man stated in that same annoyingly calm tone. "Even if everyone already knows, that only makes it easier to come out, right? Besides, I think it's cute."

Cute.

Yeah, that was what the entire Shinigami Women's Association had said when Matsumoto tromped them into their bedroom in the middle of the night to prove her point. And just when he and Toushirou had been cuddled up... err, naked. And busy. Gods, why did Toushirou have to sleep naked? Was it Shuuhei's fault he couldn't say no to temptation?

Geez, what were the odds that Matsumoto would walk in on them? _Twice__?_ Besides, it had been his pride being questioned due to the position they had been discovered in. Not Toushirou's! Really, he should be the one who was angry and indignant and scowly, even if it was rather cute. He didn't dare label it a pout because that would get certain favorite parts frozen. And he rather liked them, you know, not frozen.

They'd bought a lock since then, but still... it wasn't his fault!

"Yeah, Shuu-chan, you should make an honest man of our little Shirou-chan," Shunsui said with a sage nod, failing to notice how increasingly agitated their guest had become. "That way you won't have to sneak around anymore."

Shuuhei blinked.

Sneak around? _Sneak around__?_ All he had been doing for the past three years was sneak around and still everybody knew. Despite all the careful planning, the well thought out excuses, the late night rendezvous when everyone was asleep, the cautiously masked reiatsu... they all still knew.

It really was--

"--not my fault!" he yelled the last so loudly that it echoed off the walls and attacked their ears, escaping from him before he could stop it. Shuuhei threw up his hands in defeat, words spilling out of him in a confusing flood that made sense to no one, not especially himself.

"It's not my fault," he repeated just in case anyone in Seireitei hadn't heard him. "Okay, maybe just a little because a part of me wanted everyone to know. But he's to blame, too. It's Toushirou who doesn't want anyone to know. But I do. I don't care if everyone thinks I'm nothing but a dirty pervert. It's so damned obvious. Everyone knows already. I don't know who he thinks he's fooling. I mean the sex is great. You'd never know Toushirou's never been with anyone else before."

He paused to suck in a breath, feeling a little blue in the face since he had said the last without taking a single pause. The other two stared at him, one wanting to get in a word edgewise, perhaps an apology. But before they could even speak, Shuuhei flitted onwards. He only vaguely registered the sound of a door siding open but was too far gone to even care.

"I feel like a goddamn pedophile!" Shuuhei admitted with a groan, slapping a hand over his face and sinking down into his cushion. "We go out, and people ask if he's my little brother. They think it's cute, how I spend time with my otouto-chan. And Momo keeps talking about how sweet it is that we're roommates and that Shiro-chan isn't lonely anymore, and oh my god! How can she not realize the truth?"

Shuuhei shook his head, working himself into a fine snit as he released everything that had been steadily building for the past three years.

"I took him to meet my mother because that's what good boyfriend's do, introduce their lovers to their family. And she thought I had adopted a kid! To make matters worse, it was because it was so obvious that I had been gay for years and wouldn't be dating a woman anytime soon."

The vice-captain sucked in another gulping breath, nearly tearing out his hair in frustration. "I just can't take it anymore!" he declared. "And I want to get married."

The last was said with such finality that Shuuhei suddenly deflated, collapsing back in himself as if speaking were the only strings holding him up. He was panting just a bit, heart beating wildly in his chest.

Dead silence followed his admission.

Somewhere, a cricket chirped.

Jyuushiro blinked, mouth partially hanging open

Shunsui coughed, only it didn't come off as nonchalant since it was his friend who was actually sick.

It was then that Shuuhei became aware that someone was standing in the doorway right behind him. There was a hint of a very familiar, very icy reiatsu, and he was suddenly very, very afraid to turn around. His dark eyes flickered between the two captains in front of them, mortification coloring his face.

That had to have been the worst proposal _ever._

Shuuhei noisily cleared his throat before forcing out the question. "He's... uh... he's right behind me. Isn't he?"

Too stunned to speak, Jyuushiro and Shunsui could only nod.

Shuuhei groaned and buried his face in his hands. It was too late to take it back now. There went all the plans he had made. Right down the proverbial drain. That was not how he had planned to propose.

Then, he heard his lover take a step. The cushion dipped down slightly as someone settled near its edge. Fingers, slightly smaller than his own, pulled one of his hands from his face and entangled them together. As Shuuhei gaped in surprise, waiting for the inevitable freeze over, aquamarine eyes turned towards the other captains.

"Ukitake-taichou. Kyouraku-taichou," Hitsugaya Toushirou greeted, sounding remarkably calm. "You said something about dinner? I've been in the office all day, and I've not eaten anything worthwhile."

The vice-captain blinked, feeling suddenly tired.

Shunsui and Jyuushiro exchanged knowing glances.

"Yes, in the dining room." The sickly man rose to his feet, Shunsui doing the same. "This way."

He moved to lead them, his friend trailing along behind, and Toushirou stood as well. But before Shuuhei could even begin to rise, his lover leaned over and closed the short distance between them. Their lips met in a brief touch, but it was a relatively public kiss, where anyone could and probably would look.

Shuuhei was shocked into silence, especially when he caught sight of the half-smile on Toushirou's lips.

"We'll talk when we get home, all right?"

The vice-captain could only nod as he stood, looking at their still entwined fingers. He followed Toushirou into the dining room where a meal was already being laid out. Later, he would recall that it was the best damn dinner he'd ever tasted.

--

a/n: Eh heh, crack pairing I know. But the idea just wouldn't leave. I've got more coming, so keep an eye out! Updates should be a little faster now that I have some saved up. Thanks!


	67. Addiction

**Title: Addiction**

**Pairings/Characters: Shunsui/Ichigo, Everyone/Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Spoilers, Vast Speculation**

**Words: 933**

**Description: Inexplicably easy to love, like a drug you can't escape. **

* * *

Fortune favors the bold. Or so he had always heard. And well, no one had ever accused him of being meek by any means. Everyone was drawn to the boy, most of them without even knowing. And he was no less affected. But unlike the others, he actually planned on acting on it. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

It was easy to see why they were all attracted to Kurosaki Ichigo. He was great without trying to be, so damned loyal that it should have been outlawed and impossibly lucky. He would fight for someone, even if they had only known him for a short while. He would die for them if he thought that was what it took. And oftentimes, without knowing it, he was so easy to love, too.

The boy was like a drug that couldn't be escaped. Or perhaps people simply wouldn't escape. An addiction that can never be satisfied or given up. It was almost insane how much Ichigo managed to creep under someone's skin without trying. He had the effect of making everyone want to see that smile, to get his interest so that his attention was devoted to them and them alone. Even if it was only as a friend, a single look was enough to ensnare forever.

He had a hold on Rukia and Sado; that was easy enough to see. Both were friendship-addicted, in love with the boy in their own special way. Sado thought himself stronger because Ichigo believed in him, and he wanted nothing more than to always be by the his nakama's side, fighting at his back. Rukia-chan was grateful for another honest friendship, someone else who saw only her and not the Kuchiki household she had been brought into. Someone who was willing to risk his life to save her.

And there were others, so many others, who had fallen prey to the boy's invisible charms. Some special kind of pheromone that he emitted but couldn't be seen.

Orihime-chan had been under Ichigo's spell for years, falling into starry-eyed romance with a boy who was so blind it was almost painful. He couldn't see her growing attraction and interest, and perhaps it might have been better that way. Orihime might not have even seen her own feelings either, even if it was ridiculously obvious to everyone else.

Renji was slipping under, too, though he couldn't recognize his situation for what it was. They had a friendly rivalry, a burgeoning friendship, but it was evident something more was brimming beneath the surface. Those casual side-glances, those looks of confused wonder… it all pointed in a fairly apparent direction.

Even the ice-cold princess himself was being drawn into Ichigo's unintentional web. Byakuya-bo allowed the substitute Shinigami to speak to him with such familiarity, not at all understanding the reason. A part of the Kuchiki heir could only wonder why he wanted to hear it more and more. Ichigo wasn't afraid of him, didn't bow and scrape. And Byakuya liked it, even if he wouldn't ever say so aloud.

Amusingly enough, the same behavior could be seen in their enemies. The same fatal attraction that had infected all the Shinigami was threading its way into their foes.

Grimmjow relentlessly chased after Ichigo, demanding fight after fight without knowing why he wanted to see the boy so badly. Time and time again, he received a sound beating, but he kept coming back for more. There was no hope of winning anymore. And now, it was starting to look more like a game. But that didn't stop the Arrancar from showing up like clockwork.

The whole "Kidnap Orihime" business was really just a thinly veiled attempt on Aizen's part to get his hands on Ichigo. It could have been for the power that the teen held or his potential, but everyone was certain those weren't quite right. Even Mayuri and Soifon, two of the most socially inept people in existence, were convinced there was more than a bit of unhealthy obsession.

Just like everyone else, Kyouraku Shunsui had been swept up into the stormy tide of Kurosaki Ichigo. He saw a boy, barely out of his teen years, struggling to save everyone around him, carefully balancing a scale that was constantly tipping over. It tugged something inside of him.

But Shunsui wasn't like those cowards. In fact, he had plans. He was serious, wanting something more than just casual, than just satiated lust. He knew that temporary wasn't something that would interest Ichigo. Where everyone else just stood back and watched and wanted and hoped, Shunsui planned to give it a try.

His best buddy Jyuu-chan was even encouraging him. He, too, had been caught in the undertow. It wasn't quite as bad as the others, but only time would tell. There was something all too Kaien-like in the boy and yet so entirely different. Jyuushiro was fascinated. He wanted so much to be the teacher, the beloved mentor.

In any case, Shunsui had an idea, a thought. He was going to make his move, to encourage some of that breathtaking sunlight to shine his way. Just as the others, he had been willingly drawn into Ichigo's overpowering aura. But unlike them, he wasn't already the boy's friend. He wasn't his confidant or his teacher. In fact, he would be surprised if Ichigo even knew his name. Shunsui had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

After all, fortune favored the bold. And Kyouraku Shunsui had always been a very lucky man.

* * *

a/n: My random pairing generator strikes again! This was inspired by some lovely fanart that I found while coasting the 'net. Apparently, there is an underground following of Shunsui/Ichigo that I never knew about!

Anyways, hope you liked. There's more to come!


	68. Rules of Behavior

**Title: Rules of Behavior**

**Pairings/Characters: Yamamoto, Kenpachi, Ichigo/Izuru, Other Captains of the Gotei 13**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: AU, Future Fic, Language**

**Words: 712**

**Description: Companion to **_**Family Guy**_**. "Zaraki-taichou, in the future, please refrain from bringing your children to the captain's meeting." **

* * *

Yamamoto thought he had seen it all when it came to Zaraki Kenpachi. Showing up out of the blue one day, killing the eleventh division captain and taking his position hadn't been enough. He'd also had a kid hanging from his shoulder, bright pink hair gleaming. And then not soon after, two other people showed up to promptly become his third and fifth seats.

Not only that, Zaraki somehow managed to churn out relatively useful Shinigami. Iba-fukutaichou and Abarai-fukutaichou for example. Though Yamamoto couldn't figure that one out either.

Still, Yamamoto could have never expected this.

Kenpachi stood in the doorway of the first division, the last to arrive to the captain's meeting. That wasn't at all unusual.

There was a gurgle.

But the baby in Kenpachi's arms was.

"Zaraki-taichou..." Yamamoto cleared his throat. "Why do you have an infant?"

The man shrugged, idly shoving a finger into the boy's mouth and giving him something to chew on. "Didn't know what else to do with it," he responded. "Yumichika's busy, and Ikkaku's got the division. Ain't no way I'm leavin' 'im with Yachiru."

"Where did you get it?" Soifon demanded, hands placed on her hips as she stared at the child, who was seemingly content in a bloodthirsty killer's arms.

Yamamoto suddenly paled, having terrible visions of Zaraki stalking up to some happy couple and knocking them out with either his reiatsu or his sword. Then scooping up their infant and running away, cackling all the while.

Okay. Maybe not the cackling part. But he would be grinning. Ferally.

"From an orphanage," Kenpachi responded with another snort. "Where did ya think, dumbass?"

"They actually let you walk out with a child?" someone doubtfully commented under her breath.

"I got one, don't I?" Zaraki countered as the kid kicked him and chomped down on his finger. He swore under his breath and poked the infant in the belly.

A giggle immediately followed.

From the kid. Not the captain.

Across the way, Kurosaki rolled his eyes. "Feeling jealous, were we?" he questioned, thinking of his own brood as he teased Kenpachi.

"I think it's sweet," Kira commented from beside his husband, encouraging a beaming smile from the former substitute.

"What's his name?" Jyuushiro asked pleasantly, dark eyes almost covetous as they admired Kenpachi's newest addition.

Obviously, no work was going to be completed today.

Shunsui groaned, slapping his face with a palm as he caught sight of his best friend's reaction. "I'm too young to be an uncle," he complained. And then amended, "Again."

However, it was Zaraki's reaction that bothered Yamamoto the most.

He blinked, looking surprised. "Name?" he repeated. "Dammit, I knew I forgot something. I've just been calling him kid. Seems to like it good enough."

Jyuushiro was absolutely speechless as he stared at Zaraki. Kurosaki was snickering under his breath, shaking his head.

Zaraki merely shrugged, as if this was normal behavior. "Give me a few good days. I'll come up with somethin'."

Yamamoto was certain he was never going to see _everything_ from Zaraki. The man still continued to surprise him. And he had lived for two thousand years. Or died. However one wanted to look at it.

The unnamed baby burped and made a gurgle, which might have been a noise of contentment.

Noisily clearing his throat to restore order, the captain-commander swept his gaze over the group before pinning Zaraki. "In the future, Zaraki-taichou, please refrain from bringing your children to the captain's meeting."

The man grinned. "Ain't makin' no promises if I can't find a babysitter."

"I'm often free," Jyuushiro quickly volunteered. "I would be happy to help."

The realization suddenly struck Yamamoto out of absolutely nowhere with a startling reminder.

Zaraki Kenpachi was essentially a single father. Again.

How had he missed that?

It had to have been Ayasegawa. The fluttery fifth-seat threw off his perceptions.

But still... the most fearsome captain in the Gotei 13 was a single father.

Clearly, the world had ended.

* * *

a/n: Gah, Kenpachi is so damn fun to write. I just enjoy him so much. Thanks for reading! There's plenty more to come, including those requests so keep your eyes peeled!


	69. Simple Lies

**Title: Simple Lies**

**Pairings: Renji/Ichigo (past), Shuuhei/Matsumoto (past), Renji/Matsumoto (past), Ichigo/Shuuhei**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Implied Yaoi**

**Words: 1940**

**Description: Because monogamy wasn't a word that Renji readily understood, and he never could resist temptation. **

**Dedication: For Eternalsailorsolarwind, who wanted a Renji/Ichigo a _long_ time ago. I wanted fluff. I aimed for something happy. And this is what happened. -cries- I hope you like it!**

* * *

Shuuhei smiled, small but plainly visible, and took a bite of his bento, looking for all the world as normal as usual. He chewed and swallowed and took another bite, listening intently to the conversation at the table, which only included one other person.

Across from him, Ichigo raked a hand through his hair, disturbing strands usually carelessly arranged anyway, and gestured as he explained something. It wasn't grand, so it probably wasn't a battle. He was likely talking about the real world, a thing the Shinigami who hadn't been there often would not understand.

He watched as his senpai shifted in his seat, shoulders slumped as his elbows rested on the table, obviously at ease. The bento was nearing its end, but it wasn't like Shuuhei was really paying much attention to his food. In his eyes was warmth, not entirely unexpected, but directed solely at the man across from him. And he made some comment to Ichigo's story.

Ichigo blinked as if confused before his lips pulled into that often rare grin. And he chuckled, shaking his head. He pointed towards the nearly empty bento.

From his distance, Renji couldn't hear what either of them were saying. The subject didn't really matter. What was important was that they were talking, and they were talking together. No one else was around. It was a date, though they didn't actually call it that. It was painfully obvious in their body language, in the looks given when the one didn't think the other would notice.

Not unexpected, a surge of jealousy attacked Renji, though he had no right to feel it. In all honesty, it should have been him at that table, quietly conversing and laughing with Ichigo. But he had fucked up. There was no other way to put it. And now, here he was, a good distance away. Not daring to come closer. Watching his former boyfriend… his onetime lover and his senpai together.

The fault was entirely his own.

_Those eyes, always burning with determination, were giving him a look that could only be described as abject disappointment. It made him feel lower than dirt, but he also knew that the true shame had yet to come. There was still a question unanswered between them. _

"_The truth, Renji," Ichigo demanded without threatening. _

_He didn't have to threaten, honestly. That look was enough to make Renji feel like a piece of scum. Make him feel like the stray dog that he was._

_He looked away, unable to meet his boyfriend's eyes. "Yeah, it happened." _

_It was a mistake. Or it had been. At least, the first time was. He had been drunk, and she had been drunk, and maybe a part of him had wanted it anyway. And she had known just as he had known that he was with someone else, but they both had disregarded that truth as if it were only a guideline. Just a suggestion really, that idea of monogamy. _

_He didn't know who had told Ichigo and wasn't about to ask either since that would only make things worse. He was pretty sure that it hadn't been Matsumoto; she was at fault, too. And anyone within their immediate group would have minded their own business, unwilling to get in the middle of a potentially volatile situation. He supposed in the long run that it didn't really matter. _

_Ichigo knew now; everything else was pointless._

_Silence fell at his admission, and the seconds ticked by. The space between them might as well have been a gulf. A damn chasm. Somewhere on the edge of his senses, Renji detected a Hollow, something minor and not much to worry about. He resisted the urge to suggest they go after it, if only to escape from this conversation. Let that dumb afro-guy do his job for once. _

_Renji hoped that Ichigo wouldn't ask for an explanation. He didn't have one that wasn't trite or stupid or... not an excuse at all. He couldn't explain himself, wasn't sure if he could really apologize. He wasn't even certain if he had ever intended to tell Ichigo. A part of him had hoped to continue sweeping it all under the rug, pretending it had never happened and wasn't continuing to happen. _

_It wasn't that he didn't like Ichigo, didn't care for him in some way. It was quite the opposite in fact. There was something about the teen that was gravitating, that was incredibly inviting. And they had been friends first, a relation that had gradually deepened to more during the war. _

_Maybe it had started out as a distraction at first, something to fall into at night when they were strained from fighting and bleeding for a cause that seemed unending. They fought side-by-side, becoming each other's support. And Renji knew that a part of him cared for Ichigo. It was hard not to. He had never met anyone more worthy of being loved. _

_They had never really announced that they were together, hadn't made it obvious, but the people who knew them, friends and family, were aware. They were supportive. No one judged. And the two of them were lucky for that, not having to face rumors and comments from people too ignorant to know better. _

_Renji had been happy. He was pretty sure of that. It was hard not to be. Not much had really changed between them, after all. They still argued and fought, still sparred together. They still disagreed. And he was of a belief that Ichigo had been happy as well, even if he remained the same scowly teen as usual. Renji could remember every single instance Ichigo had smiled for him, that genuine and content smile. _

"_Why, you bastard?" Ichigo growled, reminding him that they were still very much in the middle of a serious discussion. His fingers curled into fists, shaking as he held them at his side._

_Renji's heart sank into his chest, the anticipated query something he didn't have an answer for. She had come onto him; he had accepted her advances. In all honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised. She'd done it before. He still couldn't figure out why he'd fallen for it. _

_Maybe it had something to do with intimacy. _

"_I don't know." _

"_That's not an answer, dammit." _

_He could feel the anger rolling off Ichigo in waves, blinding pulses of reiatsu that were nearly choking. He felt trapped by that disappointment, that betrayal. For someone like Ichigo, loyalty was perhaps the most important thing of all. And Renji had stabbed that trust in the gut and ground it into the dirt. _

_The redhead sighed. "Well, it's the best I've got. What d'you want me ter say?" _

_A hand shoved into his shoulder, forcing him to look up. "How about the truth, dumbass? You don't just accidentally fall into bed with Matsumoto more than once."_

_His eyes widened. He hadn't realized that Ichigo knew it was a multiple affair. Renji sucked in a breath, looking for something, anything really, to offer his lover that was better than an "I don't know." _

_He shrugged, hating that it came out so nonchalant. "Well, maybe I wasn't ready to give up women." _

_Ichigo blinked at him, face coloring with sheer fury at the absurdity of his reason. "That's no excuse!" he spat, fists visibly clenching again in an attempt not to strike the other man. "You should've told me that beforehand, you asshole. If we're just casual, it would've been nice to know." _

"_I didn't know!" Renji insisted fiercely. It wasn't his right to get angry, but somehow, the emotion kept trying to crop up. Maybe because of the guilt he felt… or rather didn't feel._

"_That's all you have to say?" Ichigo bit out. But before Renji could answer, he shook his head and violently turned away, shoulders drawn tight. "Forget it." _

_Renji knew he should say something. Like apologize. But try as he might, the words wouldn't come to his lips. He knew they'd be a lie. As if he didn't really mean it, even if he did. He was sorry that he had hurt Ichigo, was sorry he had been caught. But Renji wasn't entirely certain he was sorry for what he'd done. It was confusing, and he didn't understand it, and that only made things worse._

_Then, Ichigo was walking away. And he knew he had to say something._

"_Ichi--" _

_The answer came clipped, interrupting him before whatever inane babble he had been about to spew emerged. _

"_If I look at you, I will stab you," Ichigo put in coldly, almost dangerously calm, all too similar to Kuchiki-taichou at his very worst. "There's nothing else to say. Goodbye, Renji." _

_He walked away._

_Renji didn't dare chase after him. _

_He thought it would have been better if had Ichigo yelled at him. Or screamed. Attacked him even. It would have been easier to handle if they had fought and bled and traded blows. But that infuriating calm, those clipped tones and demands, he just couldn't understand. A part of Renji wanted Ichigo to start the fight, to claim the blood he was owed. _

_Watching Ichigo walk away should have hurt a hell of a lot more, and he couldn't help but wonder why it didn't. It wasn't until Renji turned, planning on heading his own direction, that he caught sight of Rukia. He didn't know how long she had been standing there, how much she had heard, or what all she had seen. But by the look in her eyes, he knew it was enough. _

_The first strike shouldn't have been such a surprise. _

Rukia wasn't the only one angry with him. The truth came out rather quickly after that, not because of him and Ichigo but because of the others. Then again, it was plainly obvious since they were avoiding each other, Ichigo furious and Renji barely sober.

He'd had to hear it from everybody, the disappointment and their anger. From his own captain, from his senpai, from Ikkaku and the rest of the Eleventh Division. From his friends, Izuru and the others. Orihime still wouldn't speak with him, and the memory of Ishida's disgust was burned into his brain. Yoruichi-san's glare and Urahara's deadly smile had been enough to keep him from returning to the living world. He could only imagine how Goat-Face and Ichigo's sisters had reacted.

Whatever respect he had gained had been lost in the wake of his infidelity. He couldn't blame anyone but himself. It was only a small comfort that Matsumoto was given the same treatment.

Shuuhei was livid, but he had more reason to be. Not only for Ichigo's pain but for his own as well. Renji had known, after all, of his senpai's crush on Matsumoto. Shuuhei had liked her for a long time, a couple of decades at least. And while the other vice-captain was used to seeing Matsumoto sleeping around, he had never expected someone who knew his carefully guarded secret to be another mark on her tally.

An entirely different kind of betrayal altogether.

And from his somewhat hidden position, Renji watched as Shuuhei finished the last of his bento, chopsticks clattering inside the empty box. He said something to Ichigo, and his companion looked thoughtful before nodding. They stood, rising from the table in the same motion, a look passing between them.

They converged to walk together to some unknown location, shoulders brushing casually. Renji didn't even have to look hard to see their fingers momentarily come in contact, intertwining and squeezing, before the touch was gone. Ichigo glanced up, their eyes meeting in a flash of something shared that was too easy for their watcher to recognize.

Something clenched in Renji's gut, a painful stab that was both guilty and jealous.

He watched them go, happily together, and he never hated himself more.

--

a/n: Gah. This... this is what happens when I attempt to write fluff. It twists and turns into terrible, horrible _angst_. This whole piece makes my stomach clench every time I read it, even if I am damn proud of how it turned out and it just happens to be one of my favorites. - sigh -

Anyways, hope you liked. It is a bit different than the comedy of my norm but sometimes, tis good to change. More to come! Thanks!


	70. Five Time Ukitake Tried to Get Laid

a/n: Dearest me! I'm terribly sorry for the wait but I lost access to the internet without any warning at all! I apologize for being unable to respond to your reviews but I enjoyed each and every one of them. They were wonderful things to return to. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

**Title: Five Times Ukitake Tried to Get Laid (And the One Time He Succeeded)**

**Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, OC, Aizen Sousuke, Hanatarou, Nanao, Yoruichi, Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crack like woah. Disregards the 'Pendulum' chapters of the manga in terms of timeline (Was written before they came out)**

**Words: 1,944**

**Description: Dating someone shouldn't have to be this hard. **

* * *

Ukitake Jyuushiro would like to consider himself a fine catch in the single's market. After all, he was a captain, a pretty nice guy, and rather good-looking. He had a steady occupation, and while he did have a tag along and annoying best friend, Shunsui could easily be distracted with liquor. Not a big deal at all.

Therefore, he thought he was a rather dateable, someone a person would like to take home to mother and proudly introduce.

So why did he have so much trouble getting dates? It baffled his mind.

He was certain that the trouble had started all those centuries ago when he made the mistake of finding himself attracted to one of the Kuchiki's heirs. She had been a beautiful woman, kind and gentle, and the third in line. He had been worried about marrying above his station or something like that, but that had been only a passing thought in the face of his desire. In fact, they might have even had a chance to work things out. Were it not for the accident, the storm, and the falling tree that had turned his potential love interest into the head of the Kuchiki clan.

At that point, all hope had been lost.

He had taken his defeat with all the pride he could muster, holding his head high as he walked away. But still, the memories always lingered. Of the pretty Kuchiki he never could have. That was only one of the many reasons he refused to look at Byakuya in a sexual manner. Like ever. After all, having crushed on his however-many-times great grandmother made things just a bit… squicky.

Nevertheless, being the general optimistic person that he was, Jyuushiro could not stay down for long. He had thought it would be in his best interest to give romance another try. One strike didn't necessarily mean he was doomed for life. And being the open-minded individual that he was, he didn't limit his choices either.

Aizen Sousuke had been his next logical step. The rumors that he dabbled, especially with a certain former twelfth division captain, were spread far and wide. And well, Ukitake could admit his own curiosity. Sousuke was handsome in his own way and very kind. His intelligence was a definite plus.

Jyuushiro had a plan, a method of attack. But every time he had thought about approaching, his illness had inconveniently flared up, and he had been struck by a coughing fit. By then, normally laid-back-Shunsui had morphed into worried-Shunsui, and poor Jyuushiro had lost his chance.

The white-haired man had eventually given up. Now though, he could only be glad that it hadn't worked out. Otherwise, he would certainly be a very heartbroken Shinigami. Perhaps Fate had been intervening.

After his utter failure with Sousuke, Jyuushiro hadn't been quite ready to give up on men just yet. He attempted an easier prey, one that had seemed simpler to catch.

Yamada Hanatarou was a sweet if quiet member of the fourth division, always dutiful. There was something about those hesitant eyes that was particularly gravitating. He was cute, in a puppy dog sort of way, the type of person Jyuushiro just wanted to cuddle.

And so, he had made the attempt.

Unfortunately, it had worked well only in theory.

His first and last effort at flirting had caused the poor seventh-seat to blaze a bright fiery crimson and then promptly faint. When he had awoken later, he had remembered nothing of the circumstances behind his fall. This might have had something to do with the rather loud sound his head had made when it struck the floor.

Sadly, Jyuushiro had been forced to erase all such thoughts of cuddling the adorable healer from his mind. He didn't believe Hanatarou would survive the encounter.

Three failures under his belt, Jyuushiro was not to be dismayed. With Shunsui's encouraging, he was determined to give it another try. He was a great catch, after all. Any person would give their left lung to be his husband or wife.

In any case, on Shunsui's suggestion, he had decided to give women another try. They were significantly easier to woo than men and much softer, much prettier.

He had set his sights on Ise Nanao.

Jyuushiro had plied her with gifts, her favorite books and her favorite teas. He had helped her with her paperwork and had even forced Shunsui into sobriety several times a week.

He had asked her out on a date. She had accepted. But it was so distinctly formal that he had the impression she thought it was merely a captain treating a subordinate, despite the fact that they were from separate divisions.

In the end, he had conceded defeat, a lonely and horny man.

It appeared that in trying so hard to ignore Shunsui's advances, she had never even noticed his. Perhaps Jyuushiro had been too subtle.

The last attempt he had made at getting a significant other had been by accident. It was known in the furthest reaches of his mind, filed in the darkest cabinet on the bottom shelf and in the very back, as "The Night of Mutual Mortification." He and Shihouin Yoruichi had agreed to never speak of it again.

Ever.

Not even Shunsui knew about it, thank goodness. Otherwise, Jyuushiro knew he would have faced his teasing for the rest of his exceptionally long life.

It had started with sake to be honest.

He had been inebriated and desperate and had pulled a Shunsui, drunkenly making a suggestion that she bed him since he had heard "things."

He was very, very lucky that she not only had a sense of humor but also that Soifon had never heard of this particular incident. He had the feeling that his ability to father children would have been removed if Soifon had.

Yoruichi had been as embarrassed by the situation as he. She had refused to even tease him about in all the other times they had seen each other following that night. Which, coming from the woman who amused herself at other's expenses, was a harsh blow.

She had been his last attempt.

For a century, Jyuushiro had resolved himself to the fact that he was doomed to be alone. Whether it was because he was successful or too handsome or had a leech by the name of Shunsui, he couldn't be certain. But clearly there was something that made him unacceptable to either sex. Enough so that Fate thought it necessary to ruin each and every attempt at procuring a sex life.

And then came Kurosaki Ichigo.

Admittedly, it seemed doomed from the start. The first time Jyuushiro had seen the boy, he'd nearly had heart attack and mental breakdown both. The resemblance was so uncanny that he had thought he was dreaming, then and there on that bridge. It was only afterwards, on closer examination and discussion with the boy, that he had recognized the differences.

Still, he found himself inexplicably attracted to the boy, loving his determination and strength, his loyalty to his friends. Jyuushiro was quite smitten, very much so. And he had only known Ichigo for a grand total of three years, give or take a day.

Yet, remembering his multiple failures, five to be exact, he knew better than to even try. It would be safer for his pride and sanity if he just admired from afar, secretly wanting but accepting of his destiny.

Fate had a funny way of being fickle, it seemed. While she had spurned his attempts at love and romance before, she was finally inclined to grant him a break now. Just when he was beginning to think he was going to die a hopeless, two thousand year old virgin, Fate tossed Ichigo at him.

Literally.

Apparently, the boy was fighting with Zaraki Kenpachi. Or to be more accurate, running away from a fight that Zaraki was trying to goad him into. Meanwhile, Jyuushiro was wistfully walking around Seireitei, admiring the cherry blossoms and trying to plot a way to take Ichigo to lunch without the boy being suspicious. That way he could at least admire longingly with no one the wiser.

He vaguely heard a crash. A thump. Cackled laughter.

And suddenly, there was an orange-black blur, and something slammed into him full force. Jyuushiro was thrown backwards by the attacking _something, _a whooshing grunt escaping his lips as he was tossed to the ground. A weight straddled him, feeling like a body and... was that Kurosaki Ichigo he recognized?

He was damn lucky the boy hadn't head-butted him by accident.

Big brown eyes blinked down at him. "Hey, Jyuushiro," Ichigo said without making moves to get up.

That might have had something to do with the hands Jyuushiro had placed on his hips. Completely innocent hands! He was... um, steadying him. Right. Making sure he hadn't hurt himself.

And kami was he glad he had told the boy to call him by his given name.

"Ichi-- mpph!"

He was being kissed. By Ichigo. He was being kissed by Ichigo.

_He_, failure-of-a-flirter Jyuushiro, was being _kissed_. And rather well at that. With tongue! By Kurosaki Ichigo.

The thought skittered across his mind along with feelings of complete pleasure and goofy glee. He felt like a kid all over again. And then hands. Oh, those glorious hands. They were beginning to roam and touch and...

Mmmmmm.

Jyuushiro's mind completely short-circuited.

"Ichi-- woah! I'll come back later."

There was a pause.

"Damn." He imagined Kenpachi was cocking his head to the side. "You shoulda said somethin'. I wouldn't have kept chasin' ya had I known ya had other plans."

He vaguely registered the feeling of Kenpachi departure, taking his massive surge of reiatsu with him. It didn't really matter though since Ichigo was doing these wonderful things with his tongue. Things that were making his head spin and his body heat all over. Yes, it felt quite good, like all those rumors said.

Jyuushiro felt a moan slip out of him, matched by the growl that rattled in Ichigo's chest. Hands, they were everywhere, slipping into his clothes. Ichigo was warm and soft and smelled so good. Like something darkly spicy, utterly delicious. Jyuushiro wanted to lick him everywhere.

But his back was starting to hurt. Like something was digging into his spine. Something like a rock. A rock on the ground.

Wait.

Rock. Ground. Street.

_They were still in the street!_

Jyuushiro broke away with a gasp, wildly looking around. To his utmost embarrassment, they were beginning to gather quite a crowd. Even more mortifying was that he could see Hanatarou, Nanao, and Yoruichi. All of them staring.

"Ummmm."

Great going, Jyuushiro. Ever so eloquent.

He shifted his gaze to Ichigo, immediately entranced by the attractive flush of aroused red on Ichigo's face. His lips were reddened and swollen. He wanted to taste them again, and was just leaning in to do so when he remembered.

Right. The street!

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should take this somewhere a bit more private."

There was a nod. "Good idea." His voice sounded rough. Wanting. Hungry.

Jyuushiro's body tightened. In a second, he was on his feet, not quite sure how he moved from the ground to standing.

He clasped Ichigo's hands in his, fingers intertwining. Their eyes met. And then, they were off, flitting in quick bursts of shunpo to Jyuushiro's home.

They weren't seen for the next week. Not even when Shunsui arrived, stepping into the house without so much as a by-your-leave. He emerged two seconds later, wild-eyed.

When prompted, all he would say was, "They're busy."

And rightly so.

* * *

a/n: Again, sorry for the wait. I put up another one as apology and look forward to your comments. Thanks!


	71. May and December

a/n: Dearest me! I'm terribly sorry for the wait but I lost access to the internet without any warning at all! I apologize for being unable to respond to your reviews but I enjoyed each and every one of them. They were wonderful things to return to. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

**Title: May and December**

**Pairings: Jyuushiro/Rukia, mentions of Ichigo/Byakuya**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: None**

**Words: 1619**

**Description: Taking a certain someone's roundabout advice, Jyuushiro seeks out Rukia. Sequel to "A Brother's Duty" **

* * *

Rukia was angry.

Actually, to be more precise, she was furious. Working her way towards irate. The entire Kurosaki family was supposed to have met twenty minutes ago, and yet, she was the only one who had appeared.

Rukia couldn't help feeling a little ridiculous as she stood next to the gates leading to the festival. Outfitted in a beautiful navy yukata and constantly checking her cell phone for the time, she knew she looked the part of a woman who had been stood up for her date. Though a few of those that had passed her had complimented her on the intricate silver stitching on the side of her yukata. Ishida's work, of which the Quincy had been quite proud. It consisted of several delicate snowflakes, to represent the beauty her zanpakutou. Or so he had claimed.

Inwardly, the Shinigami vowed to strangle Ichigo the next time she saw him. It was his fault entirely. He had suggested it, proclaimed that his father would be hurt if she refused and then had told her when and where to meet. On a crunch for time, she had changed at Ishida's because she thought she would be late if she had met them at the house. And yet, they were the ones who hadn't arrived.

It was irksome.

Grinding her teeth, Rukia had every intention of flitting across town and demanding a reason for their tardiness when she felt a very familiar reiatsu nearby. Blinking in surprise, she peered through the crowd still filtering into the as-of-yet-unknown-name-to-her festival and spotted a head of long, white hair. Her heart picked up a faster rhythm.

"Ukitake-taichou?" she exclaimed, pushing between a couple holding hands and making her way to her captain. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled at her as he folded his hands into the arms of his beautiful green haori. "I came to enjoy the festival," he answered simply, as if she should have already known that. It was then that she noticed he had his hair tied back, making him look much, much younger.

Rukia blinked again and gave her captain an exasperated look. "I know that," she responded. "I meant _here_. In Karakura."

Dark eyes sparkled with amusement. "I thought I would take a break from the rigors of Soul Society. It has been a long time since I ventured here just for fun."

Inwardly, Rukia sighed. It was something she should have expected from her captain. Ukitake-taichou could be just as spontaneous as Kyouraku when he was feeling well enough to be up to it.

"And on my way here," he added. "I ran into Kurosaki-kun. He wanted me to pass along the message that they would be unable to make it. An emergency came up at the clinic ,and they have their hands full."

Despite the fact it was her captain delivering the message, Rukia couldn't help but find it a bit suspicious. Especially since she hadn't so much as spoken to the twins or Isshin since Ichigo had mentioned the festival. She peered at her captain.

"Did he look... distracted?" Rukia asked, wondering if she had her brother to blame for this sudden abandonment.

"He looked busy," he replied, still with that same smile. He offered his arm to her. "But since we are both here, perhaps we could enjoy the festival together?"

Rukia's heart skipped another beat, never expecting her captain's charm to be turned her direction. "Of course, Ukitake-taichou. I would be happy to escort you." She slid her hand through his arm.

"Please, call me Jyuushiro," he corrected, tone as even as if he were addressing someone he considered an equal. "I feel old when you call me that," he added as a joke.

She smiled. "Alright, Jyuushiro," Rukia responded, testing his name on her tongue. It felt so strange but right at the same time.

A shiver of excitement crept up her spine, but she kept it restrained. She didn't want him to discover the truth, after all. She didn't dare mess up their relationship. Even if nothing ever came out of her own crush, she always wanted to be friends with Uki-- Jyuushiro. He was a great man.

"Good," Jyuushiro confirmed with a firm nod. He gestured with his free hand towards the festival. "Shall we?"

Rukia smiled. "After you."

And so, they went.

Later, Rukia would recall that she had never enjoyed a festival so much in her life. It was nice to relax around her captain, not have to worry about maintaining proper decorum, not that he ever held strongly with it anyway. Kaien had always been laid back, and much of it had passed onto Jyuushiro.

Conversation flowed remarkably easy between them, finding all manner of things to discuss, ranging from art to food. The topic of the war they were fighting and the pain that still haunted both of them was wisely steered away from.

Rukia laughed as her captain tried his luck in a game, managing not to win a thing. The man gave them a consolation prize, however, in the form of a good luck charm. Ironically, it was for "good health." She was glad that Jyuushiro found it amusing.

They paused in their walk to watch one of the live performances, a short little show set to beautiful music, and ate taiyaki together. He stopped to buy a souvenir for Shunsui, and though Rukia protested, he got her one as well. She was secretly pleased at the beautiful ornament and grudgingly accepted the carefully wrapped item with a smile.

The night grew longer, and soon, the crowds slowly dispersed as the festival drew to an end, well into the evening.

"I suppose I should be getting back soon," Jyuushiro claimed with much reluctance in his voice. "While capable, I can't in good conscience leave Kiyone and Sentarou in charge for too long, else I might not have a division to come back to."

Rukia tried to hide the disappointment that settled through her. "That's probably for the best," she conceded.

He paused, looking at her with those beautiful dark eyes. And then, he led her off to the side, under a tree that was out of the main pulse of the crowd.

"I had a wonderful time with you, Rukia. I do hope we can do this again."

Her heart skipped a beat again. She wondered if she ought to go to the fourth division since all of it couldn't have been good for her.

"I did, too," she admitted. Rukia added with a faint smile, "The next time Ichigo stands me up again, I'll let you know."

He laughed, eyes sparkling. "I think I have to admit something. I would hate for you to blame Kurosaki-kun."

Rukia blinked. "Why wouldn't I? It's his fault."

"Not entirely." His hands grasped hers, warm fingers rubbing over her palm. "It was only his idea. I merely agreed with him. I thought it was the easiest way to spend time with you without you having opportunity to reject me."

Her eyes widened in surprise and only then did she notice how close he was to her, how very intimate their position actually was. She remembered telling Ichigo about her feelings for her captain, but she hadn't honestly expected he would do anything about it. Nor did she think for even one moment that Jyuushiro would return the feelings.

"Then... then you..." she was stuttering, words absolutely failing her.

Luckily, she didn't need them because in the next moment, Jyuushiro leaned down and kissed her. His lips pressed gently against hers, and she was surrounded by the scent of him, like the air right before a heavy thunderstorm. Crisp and clean. It was only then that she realized he might have been a little nervous, too, the scent proving that he lost some control of his normally tightly contained reiatsu.

When he drew back, Rukia knew that a faint red had to be painting her cheeks.

'_Well, that certainly explained everything_,' she thought to herself.

"I do hope that wasn't too presumptuous of me," Jyuushiro said softly, a gentle smile on his lips. "But I've been wanting to do that all night."

The flush grew in force, until she was certain her face must have been glowing. She longed to say something sweet and romantic, but what actually came out was, "Ichigo told you, didn't he?"

It took a moment, but Jyuushiro grinned wide and laughed, shoulders shaking with amusement. "Yes, he did. In the most roundabout way that I've seen in years. But I assure you, everything is mutual."

Rukia felt a warmth spread through her at Jyuushiro's admission, happiness completely overriding her sense of annoyance with Ichigo taking matters into his own hands. She could see the truth in her captain's eyes. He meant what he said.

"And if you do in fact feel the same," Jyuushiro continued, "I would really like to explore where this could take us." His fingers still clasped hers warmly, and Rukia found she really liked the feeling.

She nodded. "Me, too."

Rukia hesitated on her next move but then decided to follow through with it. She kissed Jyuushiro again, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers. It was like a dream come true.

When they pulled apart, a thought suddenly struck Rukia. She looked up at her new beau and smiled.

"Now, we just have to tell nii-sama."

The look on Jyuushiro's face at that was absolutely priceless.

--

AN: The title is a reference to the saying "a May/December relationship."

Hope you enjoyed! I look forward to your comments!


	72. The Sound of Silence

**Title: The Sound of Silence**

**Pairings/Characters: Hitsugaya/Chad**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Crack Pairing, Vague Spoilers, Some Language**

**Words: 741**

**Description: He was quiet and peaceful, and at the end of the day, that was all Toushirou really wanted.  
**

**Dedication: For SilverBlaise, who wanted a Hitsu/Chad. **

* * *

To be honest, his day started with Matsumoto wandering in severely hung-over and barely fitting into an already ill-formed shihakushou. She spent the next several hours whining and bemoaning her aching head, lounging on the couch and getting absolutely no work done.

Not that she was exactly known for being diligent.

Still, he expected her to pull some of her weight. But that was not to be so today. Out of pure principle alone, he refused to let her go early and so suffered the whining all day.

That was the beginning.

Around lunch, a flunky in his division picked a fight with someone in the eleventh.

Hitsugaya missed lunch because he was involved with stopping the ridiculous argument, which he came to learn involved a girl and her three boyfriends.

And her one girlfriend.

Hungry and annoyed with an already building migraine, his brain was further worsened with the reminder that he was supposed to contact Kurosaki. This was to establish some sort of Shinigami-Substitute Shinigami network, just in case something like say, three traitors trying to take over the world, happened again.

This meant long hours spent fiddling with the confusing and complicated contraption the twelfth division had devised for him in an effort to better expedite communication.

The damn thing never worked.

It especially didn't cooperate when he froze over most of the mechanism out of sheer frustration.

Once he finally got the contraption to go through, he was met with Kurosaki's scowl. And of course, remarks on Toushirou (It was Hitsugaya-taichou dammit!) didn't quite fit in the view screen.

Stupid average height guidelines.

Needless to say, that call ended quickly with nothing getting accomplished.

Around dinnertime, a Hell Butterfly flittered into his office, just as he was planning to head out the doorway and collapse on his futon, pretending the entire day hadn't happened.

There was a Hollow that simply had to be dispatched, and for some reason, _he _was the only one who could do it.

This particular Hollow was infected with Matsumoto-disease. In other words, it talked the entire time they fought, inspiring Hitsugaya to finish it much faster than he originally intended. He had wanted to draw it out to blow off some steam. This was not to be so.

Once it was destroyed, making him wonder why Kurosaki couldn't handle it, Hitsugaya felt he was at his wit's end.

And since he was already in Karakura, Toushirou decided he might as well visit his boyfriend.

Though truthfully, he hated that term. It sounded so juvenile. Lover was probably more fitting, but then, that brought into the equation the concept of love and whether or not he felt it. But that was a discussion he didn't want to bring himself to ponder at the moment.

So he raced across the town in a flit of shunpo, appearing at the window that always seemed open for his appearance. Curtains, likely stitched by a certain Quincy if the blue crosses were any indication, were pushed aside to let in the cool night air.

Dark eyes looked up at his appearance, pausing briefly from studying thick medical textbooks. He took one look at the captain and simply nodded.

"Long day?"

Hitsugaya sighed, the tension beginning to ease out of him as he stepped inside and removed Hyourinmaru from his back. "You have no idea."

His lover grunted, a noncommittal sound of agreement and returned to his studies, though Toushirou didn't miss the smile that flitted across his full lips. Hitsugaya knew that he had a huge exam the next day, one that would decide whether or not he was fit to be a medical intern.

Toushirou made himself at home on the long couch, relaxing comfortably on the plush fabric and promptly letting the stress of the day flit away. But first, he removed his captain's haori, draping it on a coat rack, leaving his waraji under the window near Hyourinmaru.

Silence filled the room, soft and peaceful. Somewhere, children played outside, but they were already being called in by their mothers for dinner.

The soft sound of a pencil scratching across paper filled the room, barely noticeable to the exhausted captain.

It was the main reason they worked so well together, this comfortable calm. Sado was quiet and peaceful, knowing when it was best to let silence reign. And at the end of the day, that was all Toushirou really wanted.

--

a/n: Odd pairing I know, but somehow, I hope I made it work. Just a little. I hope you enjoyed!


	73. Following the Trend

**Title: Following the Trend**

**Pairings: Very light Chad/Ishida. Have to squint to see it. **

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: None**

**Words: 396**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Fashion Emergency**_**. Chad seeks out Ishida for a little fashion help. **

**Dedicated to an Anonymous on AFF who wanted a Chad/Ishida. **

* * *

Ishida pushed up his glasses with one finger. "You want me to what?"

Shifting a bit uneasily, Chad hoped his blush was hidden by the fall of his hair. "Take me shopping," he replied with more confidence than he felt.

The Quincy blinked at him before a slow smile crept into his face, glasses glinting in the light. It almost looked evil.

"Sado, I'm not sure you know what you're getting into."

Chad cleared his throat and pointed to his shirt. "Kurosaki Isshin," he rumbled, plucking at the fabric and hoping Uryuu understood without having to explain further.

Ishida's brow crinkled. He hadn't yet learned how to read Sado's one word answer like that idiot Kurosaki. The shirt? Kurosaki-san? Sudden understanding dawned on him, and a look of complete and utter horror replaced the confusion. How had he not noticed it before?

"I see," the Quincy replied, swallowing thickly at the thought of _anyone_ copying that fool's dress sense.

Chad inclined his head, relieved that he wouldn't have to recount the whole event that had inspired him to seek out Uryuu's aid.

Ishida promptly cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "Very well. Let me get my measuring tape."

The half-Mexican blinked in confusion. "But I thought--"

"You didn't think I'd actually let you _buy_ all your clothes, did you?" Ishida scoffed, clearly offended by the very thought of his friend being forced to wear _store-bought_ clothing.

Well, that had been the plan, yes. But Chad didn't bother to mention so aloud. He simply shifted where he stood, grateful that his hair often hid his eyes.

"You don't have to."

Uryuu patted him on the shoulder, having to reach up to do so, and making that spot tingle warmly at the brief touch. "I want to."

It really was that simple. Chad couldn't seem to find the words to respond.

Ishida pushed up his glasses yet again, the frames constantly sliding down his nose. "Don't move. I'll be right back," he ordered in that take-no-shit tone that rarely worked on anyone.

Chad felt himself sweat-drop just a little as his Quincy friend stepped away, presumably to fetch his measuring tape from somewhere within the small apartment. But despite himself, Chad smiled.

Uryuu _wanted_ to.

The light blush warming his cheeks intensified. Not that anyone would notice.

Chad didn't move for the rest of the day.

--

a/n: There's something cute and squishy about these two and I really wish I could write both characters a lot better. I would write them more if I did. Whelp, I hope you enjoyed! I look forward to your comments!


	74. A Mother's Love

**Title: A Mother's Love**

**Pairings/Characters: Unohana Retsu, Yamada Hanatarou**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: A very large assumption. **

**Words: 574**

**Description: A mother's love is eternal.**

* * *

She looks at him, and sometimes, it is hard for her to believe that he was once small enough to fit cradled in her arms, that he was once small enough to actually need her. Sure, he is not that large now, still a good deal littler than most of the Shinigami, but he's no longer the tiny babe, crying for attention.

He is timid, and he is clumsy, but he is one of the best healers she has ever seen. He is diligent and strong, determined to the end. He has the potential to be a vice-captain someday soon, perhaps even a captain, if only he would let himself see it.

She is never more surprised when she learns of all he has done for Seireitei. How he was ready to stand against Kuchiki Byakuya for what he believed. But then, thinking back on his inner strength, a part of her always knows that there is more to Yamada Hanatarou than people can see. She knows that she shouldn't have been surprised, that her son has always had it in him to be something great, something wonderful.

She looks at him now, watches as he goes about his duties with the same care as before. She watches, and she smiles and thinks that he follows after his mother in more ways than one, even if they don't share the same name. Circumstances as they are, it would have been more of a burden for him to carry hers. She wants him to make it on his own, carving out his future with his own two hands and not relying on his family's influence like so many others.

The events surrounding the ryouka invasion have changed him, but no more than what was there before. What has always been hidden has finally begun to shine, showing everyone else just what kind of gem lies beneath the surface. And maybe, he is finally starting to see it for himself.

She is so very proud of him, of everything that he has done. It makes her wish that she could tell Seireitei with pride in her eyes that this is her son. And she knows that she doesn't tell him enough. Hanatarou knows that she loves him, that her heart is filled with thoughts of him every time she lays her head down at night. She offers some prayer and some thanks to a deity she can't see that he is alive and well and making it on his own.

And maybe she does spoil him just a bit. Perhaps she does give him a kinder smile, a warmer greeting. Maybe there is truth in her third-seat's barely hidden jealousy. But Hanatarou deserves it so very much.

A mother's love will never change, after all, and Unohana Retsu is determined to let her son, her only child, know that. Despite all odds, she will always be there, watching from the shadows and cheering him on with her own type of support. Though she can't embrace him as a mother should anymore, her smile is enough to convey her feelings, her love.

She wants him to keep looking forward, trudging ahead and making his own destiny with that unfailing determination. Retsu knows in the end that he will make her proud no matter what he does. He has already proved that in more ways than one.

She has only to sit back and watch his future unfold.

* * *

a/n: Seriously though. Don't these two look like they could be related? I don't know if anyone's written anything with that before since I don't read much fanfiction (I'm incredibly picky about it). So this could be a new idea or an old one. But I liked it. Lemme know if you did, too.


	75. Rukia's Dating Service Hitsugaya

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Hitsugaya**

**Characters: Ichigo, Hitsugaya, Rukia, Matsumoto**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Cursing. Insanity. That about sums it up. **

**Words: 2171**

**Description: This wasn't a date. Just so they were clear.**

* * *

"Taichou needs a friend."

Rukia blinked, lowering the manga Ichigo had tossed at her for entertainment and regarded the lieutenant with some confusion. "What?"

Tossing her hair and kicking her feet in the air from where she lay propped up on the floor, Matsumoto elaborated. "The scowl he gets between his eyebrows is cute," she explained, pointing to her scrunched forehead. "But he doesn't have any friends. He needs some."

Intrigued and still slightly confused, Rukia closed the book. "And you're telling me... why?"

Matsumoto smiled deviously, winking at her. "I know what you've been doing with Ichigo-kun. I think you should pair him up with taichou."

Her mouth nearly dropped. She had been hitting sort of a low spot lately. None of her attempts had worked, and Ichigo looked just as miserable as ever, running around scowling and taking his anger out on Hollows. And he _had_ developed some sort of bond with Hitsugaya-taichou.

Rukia tipped her head to the side. "It _could_ work," she mused aloud, tapping her fingers on her knee.

Matsumoto grinned, a giggle escaping her lips. "It _will_ work," she corrected. "And then, maybe I'll get that time off I wanted. The possibilities are endless!"

Rukia rolled her eyes. There was always an ulterior motive. Still, her mind was already churning, a devious plan taking form that would encourage Ichigo to appear for his date.

Her lips curved into a smirk.

* * *

"This isn't a date," Ichigo stated crossly.

Standing across from him and wearing a gigai, Toushirou blinked.

"I don't know what she told you," the substitute Shinigami continued, ignoring the press of people around them, all hurrying to their destinations. "But this isn't a date."

Crossing his arms, Toushirou stared just as irritably in return. "That's perfectly fine with me."

"So long as we're in agreement," Ichigo responded.

Silence fell between them. A car honked loudly in the street. Three giggling girls in school outfits passed by, obviously sharing some secret. The two stubborn boys stared at each other, willing the other to break first.

Ichigo shifted, ready to get this bonding session over. "So how'd they convince you to come here?"

There was a disdainful snort. "Matsumoto thinks I need friends. It was either you, that idiot Abarai, or being plied with candy by Ukitake." An angry "v" formed on his brow.

Ichigo felt marginally better that he was picked out of three. But then again, it really meant he was the lesser of three evils. So there was nothing to be proud of. Irritation quickly returned.

"Che." He paused. "What do you want to do then?"

"What do I know?" Toushirou shrugged, attempting nonchalance, as if he'd rather be anywhere but there at that very moment.

"We could just walk?"

"Fine."

It was settled. In an unconscious, silent agreement, they headed to the right, towards the main hub of the shopping district. Ichigo shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling at the surrounding pedestrians. Toushirou granted them all bored glowers. It worked remarkably well for the both of them.

Conversation was nonexistent. They passed a restaurant or two. And a movie theater. A grocery store. An arcade.

And then, Ichigo caught it.

Blue-green eyes swiveled towards the arcade, taking in the bright colors and energetic sounds. They could hear the games from the street, the chirpy beeps and the faint music of DDR. There was a glimmer of interest shining in Toushirou's eyes, but he quickly shoved it down, squirreling it away.

Obviously, he was going to refuse to ask to go in. Even if it was so damned clear he wanted to.

"Let's go to the arcade," Ichigo said with a smirk, directing the captain towards it and not giving him a chance to argue otherwise. "With any luck, we won't run into Keigo _or_ Chizuru."

Toushirou snorted. "Fine."

That was his standard answer. Which was better than an argument in Ichigo's book. His smirk widened. No argument only proved that Toushirou wanted to go inside.

They ambled to the sliding glass, pausing in the doorway and looking around. As always, it was dimmer inside than out in the sun. Thankfully, this particular arcade wasn't too crowded. And most of the patrons were at least over thirteen. No worries about little kiddies then.

Toushirou made no moves to go further, not wanting to appear in the slightest bit interested. It was kind of cute, in a scowling, annoyed and frosty sort of way. If Ichigo squinted. Cute like Karin getting mad at him was cute. Like a little brother or something.

And there was no way in hell he was admitting any of that aloud.

Ignoring Toushirou's attempt at being a _mature_ adult, Ichigo dug some coins out of his pocket and plopped down at the nearest game. A classic. Pac-Man it was. With a clink, he stuck in a coin and started to play. He idly wondered if Toushirou had any money.

Then, he saw the captain pull out a few coins, glancing at them as if debating their use. Toushirou's brow furrowed deeply again, enough to give him lines in the future if he kept doing that. He deliberated for another long moment before clinking the money in his hand and heading further into the arcade, presumably to find something more to his taste.

Ichigo shrugged and returned to his game.

Dammit. He'd just gotten eaten.

He whiled away a few minutes with Pac-Man and then gave up when he lost too many times in a row. It had been a long time since he'd been at an arcade. Rising to his feet, Ichigo flitted around to a few other games. Street Fighter. Some kind of shooting game. That damned stuffed-animal-arm-thing he could never win. A racing simulator.

Ichigo won a few, lost even more. His wallet was much lighter by the time he was done. Before he knew what he was doing, an hour had passed. He figured he had better find Toushirou before the captain iced down some poor machine and had management called on them. Sometimes, Shinigami and machines didn't mix. The incident with Renji, the fridge, and Zabimaru had taught him that.

Abandoning Mortal Kombat, Ichigo began a brief search of the arcade. It took him less than a minute to find Toushirou at the pinball machine.

_Beating_ the high score.

Ichigo gaped. "How long have you been playing?"

"Don't speak, Kurosaki," the other boy muttered, eyes glued to the machine in front of him as his fingers moved rapidly to keep the damn metal ball ping-ponging inside the game. The numbers at the top continued to scroll as he racked up points, much to the amazement of a steadily growing crowd.

Hitsugaya Toushirou, the Pinball Master. Who knew?

Thoroughly impressed, Ichigo moved to the empty machine next to the captain. He popped in a coin and started to play, though it wasn't with nearly the same skill as Toushirou. It wasn't long before he heard a cry of surprise from the gathered gawkers. He turned to find that Toushirou had maxed out the machine with the highest score. It would go no higher.

Bright lights and chirpy music announced that he was the grand master pinballer. Smug, Toushirou turned and shot Ichigo a smirk.

"Piece of cake."

Ichigo snorted. "What? They teach you that in the Academy or something?" he questioned softly, the query vague enough that no one would get suspicious. "Or did you spend the last hour on this game alone?"

Toushirou glared at him. But before he could get in a word edgewise, a girl wandered over, looking just about Ichigo's age.

"That's amazing," she breathed, fluttering her eyelashes at them. She clapped her hands together in surprise. "I've never seen anyone actually beat the high score!"

The look the Shinigami captain gave her was entirely disbelieving, as if he couldn't understand how one female could be that stupid.

She continued, sidling up to Ichigo. "Are you two brothers?" she chirped, running a hand suggestively down his arm.

The substitute Shinigami sidestepped automatically, half-wondering if Izuru liked arcade games. Maybe they should give it a try on their next date.

"What do you think?" Toushirou demanded.

They both scowled at each other, a nearly identical expression. The girl looked between them and giggled again. She pressed against again Ichigo with a sigh.

"Would your kawaii otouto want some candy?"

Ichigo smirked devilishly, remarkably resembling Zaraki Kenpachi. "Oh, no. He's violently allergic to it. Makes him have these fits."

Scowling, Toushirou leaned against the pinball machine, which was still flashing brightly and declaring that he was a "Winner!"

The girl pouted, clearly upset that her presence wasn't having as much of an effect as she wanted. "That's so sad."

Ichigo shrugged. "I guess." He avoided her touch and returned to his own machine.

Hell, if Toushirou could do it, then so could he.

"Try something else," Ichigo suggested a few minutes later with a sly grin. "Like DDR."

Toushirou tilted his head to the side. "DDR? What the hell is that?"

His flipper missed the last of his metal spheres, and Ichigo cursed, watching as it sank into the end zone. He was out of tries. Giving up his attempts at pinball domination, Ichigo turned towards Toushirou.

"I'll show you."

Realizing that she was being ignored, the girl wandered away. "It's always the good-looking ones," she mumbled under her breath.

Neither male noticed.

With the Shinigami captain in tow, Ichigo headed to the back of the arcade, where several consoles were set up, only one in actual use. He watched as Toushirou studied the other player, face pulled into his usual scowl.

"Try it," Ichigo suggested, climbing up into an empty console and taking the right side. "Unless you don't think you can do it."

Toushirou snorted. "Fine."

He took the left and watched as Ichigo set up the game, selecting the difficulty level and style of music. Behind them, a crowd began to draw, likely recognizing Toushirou as the one who had beaten the pinball machine.

"Pay attention," Ichigo instructed as he hit the final button. The opening strains of something began to play, a mix of vocals and some kind of instrument.

"What did you pick?"

The music continued.

Ichigo smirked. "Kung-Fu Fighting."

"Idiot." Toushirou snorted.

There was a gong, and their heads whipped towards the screen. Arrows started to fly up from the bottom. From then on, it was a battle. And they were as focused as if Hollows were dancing in front of them. Feet flew across arrows. Curses spilled from their lips. Directed at themselves and at the computer. Cheering started behind them, the crowd split in who they were rooting for. Some money was even exchanged.

Neither competitor even noticed, too intent on the screen.

One and a half minutes later, slightly breathless, the song ended with a final heavy dong. And the computer calculated their score.

"Dammit," Toushirou muttered as the numbers appeared, going along with the cheering and booing crowd behind them.

Ichigo had beaten him by thirty points. Bastard.

"It's not fair. You have longer legs," Toushirou protested. "And you've done it before."

The substitute Shinigami smirked at him. "You're just a sore loser." He looked around, only just noticing their crowd. "Wanna do it again?"

A sniff. "Best two out of three?"

"Works for me."

And so it went.

More money was exchanged. Three more songs were played. At expert level, no less. But in the end, Ichigo emerged victorious once more. Very, very reluctantly Toushirou conceded defeat.

Stepping off the machine, much to the disappointment of their viewers, they let others play the game.

"Well?" Ichigo prompted.

"You will speak of this to no one," Toshiro warned and then frowned in thought. "Though it would make a good training regime." He eyed the game, as if contemplating how difficult it would be to get one to Soul Society.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. Typical.

"I'm not making any promises, Toushirou."

"That's Hitsugaya-taichou!"

The teenager lifted a brow. "What happened to friendship?"

There was a moment. Toushirou folded his arms over his chest, eyebrow twitching in irritation. "Fine," he grudgingly allowed.

Ichigo snuck a glance at the clock. It was actually getting pretty late.

"Time for me to head home. And it's probably past your bed-time."

His companion scowled. "I'm not above freezing you here and now, Kurosaki."

"You could try."

Two stubborn souls stared at each other unflinching. Toushirou was the first to give in and only because he was reluctantly admitting the truth.

"We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Since we're friends and all," Ichigo returned sarcastically.

They exchanged glances again, both very warily conceding to the bonds of friendship.

"Better than Renji," Ichigo added, as if to assure both of them that there was clearly no other alternative.

Toushirou inclined his head. "And better than being force fed candy," he admitted.

"Then, it's a deal."

"Fine."

* * *

a/n: I don't know why. I just don't really like this pairing. But don't worry, there's some of it coming up in the future since I did receive a few requests. But as for the Rukia's Dating Service series, they just aren't to be.

I hope you liked! I find this one particularly amusing.


	76. Shotgun Wedding

**Title: Shotgun Wedding  
****Pairing/Characters: IchigoxUkitake, Shunsui, Isshin, Urahara, Yoruichi  
Rating: T  
Words: 1072****  
Warning: Some OOC  
Description: Sequel to **_**Five Times Ukitake Tried to Get Laid (And the One Time He Succeeded). **_**After years of longing, they decide there's no point in waiting. **

* * *

A sad, soft sigh echoed through the eighth division office, entirely forlorn.

"Jyuu-chan."

Shunsui pouted behind his desk, chin propped up on his hand as he gazed moodily at nothing. One hand idly rolled a sake jug back and forth on the desktop, the continuous sound the only thing to pierce the quiet other than his sighs. He was so bored.

All his paperwork was done. Nanao-chan had been giving him very strange looks, which were a lot like pity in his book. She hadn't even smacked him with her fan in days! He had retreated to his office for that very reason, not wanting to see her cute face with that sad look.

He was so lonely. He hadn't seen his cute Jyuu-chan in a week. Well, not counting that one... _incident_. When he went to check on his best buddy the second day after his disappearance. That particular day had been entirely stricken from his memory.

But dear Kami-sama, the boy was flexible.

Bam!

His door flew open with a very loud bang.

"Shunsui!"

He leapt about ten feet in the air, the sake jug skittering out from under his grasp and spinning off the end of his desk. It promptly crashed to the floor and shattered into a half-dozen pieces. Luckily, it was already empty.

"Jyuu-chan?" He was hopeful as he looked to the door.

His best friend was a sight for sore eyes, all smiling and grinning like that. His cheeks were flushed adorably. Why, he looked several centuries younger, especially with his hair tied back like that!

"I'm getting married!"

Shunsui blinked. And blinked again.

What? No "I'm happy to see you, Shunsui?" What happened to "It's been a week. I've missed you."

And even for Shunsui, his first response was not "Congratulations, I'm happy for you." Or even "Who's the lucky man/woman?" Especially since he could already guess.

Instead, the first thing he managed to say was, "Damn, you move fast."

He peered at his best buddy. "What'd you do, knock him up?"

Jyuu-chan had to be in a good mood because he didn't even glare at him for that. Instead, he just barged excitedly on.

"No, but we want kids. At least two! We're going to live in my house," Jyuushiro went on, eyes sparkling.

Shunsui was completely flabbergasted. "But what about Ichigo-kun's life in the real world?"

"Ichigo is going to finish college," his dearest Jyuu-chan explained in a hurried and excited voice. "Education is important, you know. And then, he's going to give his body to Kon!"

The other man blinked in confusion. "Kon?"

"His mod-soul," Jyuu-chan clarified.

Shunsui groped for something, anything that made sense. "But won't he need a job?"

"I've already sent a message to Genryuusai-sensei! Ichigo's accepted the fifth division captaincy. He'll take it as soon as he graduates."

Looking around, Shunsui couldn't help but wonder. "So where is the lover-boy?"

"Gone to fetch his family and friends!"

Feeling both grumpy and happy for his buddy, Shunsui furrowed his brow. "And what about the rest of your life? Is there anything I'm missing?"

"No. But we better get going," Jyuushiro put in with a beaming smile. "We don't want to be late."

Fetch? Late?

Shunsui somehow felt he was missing something important. But he was already being tugged to his feet by a surprisingly forceful Jyuu-chan. It was then that he got a good look at his buddy's wardrobe. The shihakushou and captain's haori were gone, replaced by some really fancy robes that Shunsui had never seen before.

"You look nice." He squinted. "When did you get that?"

"The day before yesterday," Jyuu-chan chirped.

'_They actually left the house__?_' Shunsui asked himself.

"It was a speed order from Ishida-san! Just for the occasion." Jyuushiro was practically bouncing on his feet, radiating a happy glow.

Occasion? Shunsui's mind was slowly starting to wake up, gears shifting to life. He just had this sneaking suspicion.

"So when's the wedding?" he questioned as he was dragged from his office, much to Nanao-chan's amusement and confusion both.

Jyuushiro beamed at him over his shoulder. "Right now!"

"What?" Shunsui cried.

And then…

"Wait! Jyuu-chan! My hat!"

* * *

"What?" Urahara Kisuke and Isshin spluttered together, their voices in perfect unison.

Next to them, Yoruichi's mouth had visibly dropped open. And searching for an incredible well of patience, which had grown extensively in the past week, Ichigo repeated himself.

"I'm getting married."

Urahara blinked, his hat shoved back from his face in his surprise and making him look several years younger. "How?"

"When?" Yoruichi added in complete bewilderment.

"To who?" Isshin demanded, too stunned to even manage some loud proclamation of love and/or devotion to his son.

Ichigo chose to answer the last question since it was the only one that mattered. "Jyuushiro." He shifted in his seat, fighting the urge to grin widely and never stop, heart fluttering in his chest.

All three stared at him as if they couldn't seem to connect the dots. The trio of former captains gaped as if they had never heard of marriage before. He could practically see the gears churning in their heads, noticing the exact moment when clarity dawned.

_"Ukitake _Jyuushiro?"

Again, it was a complete unison of their voices. As if their thought processes were managing to run at exactly the same speed.

"The man old enough to be _my_ grandfather?" Isshin demanded, pointing to himself as if there were any doubt whom he meant.

"Much less _your_ grandfather, Ichigo," Yoruichi pointed out, golden eyes wide.

Ichigo nodded, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. "Yes."

He glanced at the clock and realized that he didn't have time to explain the specifics. Instead, he fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Be here in two hours," Ichigo explained as he rose to his feet, grin slowly widening. "Don't be late."

He still had several people to tell, after all. Jyuushiro had promised to speak to all their friends in Soul Society. And Ichigo had already told Chad, having found his friend in less than five minutes. Chad had just given him a thumbs up, which was all Ichigo needed. Easy acceptance. Ishida had promised to tell Orihime for him. And then, Tatsuki and the rest. All that was left were Rukia and Renji.

The three fully grown (or so they claimed) adults, gaped at him.

"Two hours?" Isshin questioned, clearly aghast. "What happens in two hours?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes but even that wasn't enough to cover his apparent excitement. "You'll figure it out. And make sure Karin and Yuzu are there, too. And anyone else you want to bring."

He turned and left, flitting out a nearby window. He vaguely sensed both Renji and Rukia's reiatsu somewhere near the shopping center. That was his next stop.

Somewhere behind him he heard, "But what happens in two hours?"

Ichigo just smiled.

* * *

a/n: Oh, don't worry. There's one more in this little series. I hope you enjoyed. Thanks!


	77. Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen

a/n: Just so you know, this is like, one of the funniest things I've written. It happens to be one of my personal favorites so I hope you enjoy. Oh, and it quite possibly, might be pure crack.

**Title: Oh, How the Mighty Have Fallen**

**Characters: Gin, Aizen, Tousen, Ulquiorra, Stark**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Some crack and OOC, Language, Possible spoilers  
**

**Words: 1,370**

Description: Is it any wonder this hasn't happened before?

* * *

It was an ordinary day really. Murder, mayhem, and the like. Only a little less murder and mayhem and a lot more aimless wandering around Las Noches, looking for something to do. All in all, it was a typical day for Gin as he secretly delighted in unnerving the weaker Arrancar by grinning at every single one he passed.

It never got old.

He was in the midst of his rounds, half-considering a stroll through the kitchens to unsettle whoever was supposed to be cooking for the day, when he heard it.

A very large thump. And it had come from the direction of Aizen-taichou's throne room.

Gin was intrigued. He decided to investigate.

* * *

It was his favorite pastime. He could spend hours just lying there on his comfortable bed, in a state between half-dozing and half-awake. Really, there was nothing better than sleeping. At least, not to Stark,

If he wanted, he could even sleep through Lilinette's attempts to wake him up. Usually, he just humored her. It was rather fun to watch her get all excited.

But today, it seemed, a nap was not to be.

A very large thump shoved him into consciousness, and Stark blinked sleepily as he rose from reclining. It was an odd enough noise that he felt he ought to check since his room was nowhere near the training grounds where Grimmjow was known to randomly destroy things. Otherwise, Las Noches wasn't a place to arbitrarily "thump."

Stark decided to investigate.

* * *

He liked the library with its masses of books and distinct lack of any other Espada. Szayel appeared from time to time. But he stayed in his section, muttering under his breath, and left Ulquiorra alone. Few others ventured to here; it was like a secret haven for him. Far, far away from Grimmjow.

Ulquiorra would never tell anyone, but it was his favorite place in Las Noches. Aside from being at Aizen-sama's side, of course.

Pale fingers traced elegant spines, some lightly coated in dust, and wondered what he was going to read next. History of the living world fascinated him, especially books that detailed great wars and battles. He felt the knowledge would be of great use to Aizen-sama.

He was neatly distracted from selecting a book on an ancient culture called "Sparta" when the sound of a large thud graced his ears. Ulquiorra frowned inwardly, concerned by the noise. If that idiot was breaking down walls again...

Ulquiorra decided it was in his best interest to investigate.

* * *

The three concerned parties met each other out of Aizen's throne room, having all deduced that the noise had come from within. Stark and Ulquiorra lingered, but Gin barged right in, unconcerned. The Espada trailed along after him.

At first, nothing seemed amiss. There was no destruction, no smoke and flame. No evidence of what might have caused such a large noise.

But there _was_ Aizen, sitting on the floor beneath his throne in a nearly sprawled fashion. He had one hand covering his face, and Gin could just barely make out a few murmurs. They dared move closer.

Ulquiorra first to break the silence. "Aizen-sama?" he asked tentatively, never one to upset his lord.

There was silence, until they drew closer. Gin could make out the future king's mutters.

"By Kami, I just fucking fell out of my throne," Aizen was mumbling under his breath, his voice clearly holding disbelief.

Ulquiorra blinked slowly. "Aizen-sama?"

The hand dropped. And Aizen looked... well, it was the sort of expression someone had when they squashed embarrassment, indignation, and fury into a ball and threw it at irritation.

"That's it," Aizen stated with a slight wince. "I am building some goddamn stairs."

The pieces began to fall into place. Gin couldn't help but chide the other man, feeling justified since he had warned the arrogant traitor.

"I told ya so!" he chirped, grin widening on his face as he looked _down_ at Aizen. "One day, ya were going ta miss!"

Behind them, the door to the throne room swung open. Tousen walked sedately inside.

"What's going on?" he demanded, having apparently also heard the dreaded thud. "I can't see."

"Aizen-taichou had a little accident," Gin responded, wondering how much longer he would be able to hold in his chuckles.

Tousen was interested, tipping his head to the side. "Oh? Did he finally fall off his throne?"

The lord and master of Las Noches glared at his subordinates... from the floor. "When has it become proper to mock your king?"

"Don't look like much o' a king from the ground," Gin countered with a smirk. "Why don't ya get up, Aizen-taichou?"

He was rewarded by the sight of Aizen burying his face back in the safety of his palm. "I do not think I can," he admitted grudgingly. He shifted as if testing the validity, winced, and then settled back with a grunt.

Getting up was not an option.

The muffled sound behind Gin had to have been Stark concealing his laughter. It wasn't proper to chuckle at your lord's expense, after all. But Gin held no such qualms.

Ulquiorra, completely missing the humor in the situation, crossed the floor and appeared at the fallen king's side. "Aizen-sama, might I be of service?"

Gin coughed into his hand, trying to cover up his burst of laughter. "If only Soul Society could see ya now," he taunted.

"Oh, do shut up, Gin."

The smirk on Gin's face was purely wicked. "Come over here an' make me."

Aizen dropped his hand, glaring evilly at his subordinate. However, it lost some of its potential effect when it was given from what was effectively waist-level. Really, it was like watching Hitsugaya getting all indignant and attempting to be tough and angry. More like a cute pout.

A covered mix of coughing and chuckles slipped from Stark's mouth. "I have to go," he choked out, obviously trying to restrain himself. "Um... something important just happened."

And then, he was gone in a burst of sonido, right out the door. The moment it slammed shut behind him, however, Gin could have sworn he heard very loud cackles of amusement echoing down the hall.

Aizen buried his face in his palm. It somehow seemed less mortifying that way.

He groaned. "Oh Kami, it hurts."

"Do you require a healer, Aizen-sama?" Ulquiorra inquired, ever ready to leap to his master's demands.

"A healer fer his pride," Gin inserted with a snigger, feeling his stomach cramp from the effort of holding it all in.

Tousen was no better, a smirk twisting his lips and a grimace on his face, barely concealing his own enjoyment. His attempts at stoicism only made it that much worse.

"Just go," Aizen ordered impatiently, having had enough of their amusement at his expense. "_Go_."

They knew better than to argue, Gin immediately turning to leave and Tousen heading towards the door with him.

"No, no, I won't fall," Gin mocked as entered the hall. "I'm the god o' the universe. I wouldn't do anythin' as pedestrian, as _plebian_ as fall from my throne. I--"

The door slammed shut on whatever he planned on adding.

Left behind, Ulquiorra turned to leave.

"But not you," Aizen inserted testily, peering up at his subordinate. "How good is your healing kidoh?"

Ulquiorra shook his head. "Not good enough."

The former Shinigami sighed. "I thought so."

Very grudgingly, he held up a hand, glad that the Espada was smart enough to figure out his request without him explicitly stating it. Ulquiorra slowly pulled him to his feet, bearing the weight of his master on one shoulder.

Wincing, Aizen turned to look at his landing spot and groaned louder. "There's a dent in my floor," he gritted out through his teeth, swearing he could hear Gin's laughter on the edge of his mind. "There's a goddamn dent in my floor."

"I will get someone to fix it, Aizen-sama," Ulquiorra hastily interjected.

Brown eyes closed in surrender. "Ulquiorra?"

"Yes, Aizen-sama?"

"Shut up." His ass chose that moment to twinge, reminding him of its utter _pain_ and _agony_. "And get me that healer."

* * *

a/n: I don't write enough Espada. And when I do... it turns into crack like this. I wish I knew why. And damn but Ulquiorra is _hard_ to write. Thanks for reading! I hope you had a chuckle at Aizen's expense.


	78. Mind Meld

**Title: Mind Meld**

**Characters: Renji, Chad, Ichigo, Keigo, Mizuiro, Mentions of Others**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: None**

**Words: 526**

**Description: Because they are one being. Seriously. **

* * *

Abarai Renji had seen a fair number of odd things in his years. Living in Soul Society, where a lot was possible thanks to spirit particles, meant there wasn't much that could surprise him.

He was also vaguely familiar with the ability to communicate in an instant, through hand signals, maybe even special looks. But what he was observing at the moment went beyond explanation, beyond words.

And amazingly enough, no one else seemed to really care.

Hand paused halfway between his mouth and his store-bought bento, Renji could only gape as he watched the spectacle unfold.

It started simply.

Ichigo shuffled around in his seat, idly rolling one shoulder and cracking it.

Next to him, Chad grunted in a noncommittal manner.

The orange-haired teen then frowned, though it didn't look that different from his usual expression. Well, it was probably best to say that his frown _deepened. _That made more sense.

Somewhere, in the back of Renji's avid attention, he registered Rukia and Orihime chatting about something beyond his comprehension. He felt the urge to comment but couldn't stop watching. It was like a Kurotsuchi experiment gone wrong. He had to know what happened next.

Chad stretched out a leg. He was a pretty big guy to be sitting all curled up like that. Even Renji couldn't sit scrunched in that manner for long. Chad's knee popped as he unfolded it.

On his right, Ichigo inclined his head, boredly staring up at the blue sky and probably watching a bird or something else up there. Or maybe even a cloud. He seemed like the type.

Chopsticks scraped at the bottom of a box as Chad took a bite of his own bento, nearly finished by now. Renji was a bit jealous. The teen's lunch looked ten times better than his own. He suspected that Quincy brat had made it.

Ichigo yawned, eyelids drooping lazily as if he were about to fall asleep in the lazy heat of the rooftop. His fingers took up a random tapping pattern.

Chad's nose twitched, and he sneezed, rather violently. It startled the girls, who only paused in their gossiping momentarily before continuing just as animated as before.

Cracking his neck, Ichigo thrust himself into a sitting position. He grabbed his mostly untouched bento.

"Good idea, Chad," he mumbled around a mouthful of rice.

Renji blinked. And blinked again.

It wouldn't be so bad, but this was the fourth or fifth time he had witnessed such a thing. That these two humans were able to communicate with seeming telepathy. It boggled his mind.

"Did _anyone_ just get that?" he demanded, glancing around in surprise.

Honestly, not even he and Rukia were that in sync, and he'd known her for almost a century. They were like siblings.

Beside him, making an overly dramatic gesture, Keigo clasped his hands together. "They're one being!" he gushed with a chortling laugh.

Ever calm, Mizuiro rolled his eyes and calmly took a sip of his drink. "You'll get used to it," he explained, patiently ignoring Keigo's usual prattle. "It happens all the time."

A part of Renji was afraid that he already _was_.

* * *

a/n: Seriously. has anyone _else_ noticed the strange connection between Ichigo and Chad? I just had to comment on it. I hope you liked! There's plenty more to come and as always, keep a look out for your requests!


	79. Biological Clock

**Title: Biological Clock**

**Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, Shunsui, mentions of others**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **

**Words: 1,371**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Family Guy**_** and **_**Rules of Behavior**_**. It was all Kenpachi's fault. He had to go and get a brat and get Jyuushiro's clock a' tickin'.**

* * *

"I need a wife."

Now, Kyouraku Shunsui was normally a reasonable man. Being half-soused most of the time might have had something to do with it. There were very few things that threw him for a loop. Yet, this statement out of completely nowhere had somehow managed to utterly flabbergast him.

Amazing.

Shunsui blinked. "Jyuu-chan? I'm confused." He tilted his head to the side. "A wife?"

This came from Jyuushiro, who was eternally concerned about getting married and burdening some kind soul with his illness. He could only vaguely remember Jyuushiro dating a handful of people during the entire time they'd known each other, and those relationships had been short and largely unsatisfying. For both parties.

Honestly, Shunsui had always thought his best buddy was either very sexually repressed or had personal time every night. There was simply no other way he didn't explode from need. Therefore, this request baffled him.

"Yes, I need one," Jyuushiro confirmed, determination alit in his dark eyes.

In the back of his mind, Shunsui faintly heard this strange ticking sound, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe his dear buddy had bought a new clock from the living world.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock_.

It was only slightly annoying. Shunsui ignored it.

He propped his chin on his hand. "Whatever for?"

Jyuushiro shot him one of those trademark looks that he had come to identify over the years of knowing him. "What do you think?"

Shunsui shrugged. "Just checking, Jyuu-chan."

"Shunsui, don't make this unnecessarily difficult." Jyuushiro sighed, beginning to drum his fingers on his desk. "I need a wife. And you're going to help me."

"In case you haven't noticed, Jyuu-chan. I have the wrong plumbing," he responded with a slow, sliding smirk.

It was always so fine to rile his best buddy, Jyuushiro could be so uptight sometimes. He hadn't yet learned the true value of a good bottle of sake. And a willing beauty.

Dark eyes rolled. "I said you're going to help me," Jyuushiro countered, sounding annoyed. "Not _be_ my wife."

Shunsui pushed his hat up with one finger. Somewhere, he heard that noise again.

_Tick-tock. Tickety-tick-tock._

"Okay... do you have a preference?"

He shook his head. "No. That's the problem. It'd be easier if I did. Then, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

For a moment, Shunsui had a rather absurd image in his mind, despite the fact that it was out of his buddy's character. He could clearly picture Jyuushiro striding up to some beautiful, wandering woman and state in his firm, no-nonsense voice, "You're going to marry me."

There would clearly be no choice in the manner for the poor girl.

Shaking his head to dispel _that_ disturbing thought, Shunsui regarded his friend. "You're going to have to tell me why, Jyuu-chan. Otherwise, I can't help you out."

Pursing his lips, Jyuushiro finally conceded to that much. "Fine. I need a wife because I want a baby."

He hadn't said he wanted to adopt. Or that he was tired of being alone. No, his Jyuu-chan wanted a brat, wanted a little kid running around calling him daddy. Shunsui knew he should have seen this one coming, especially considering the covetous looks he had caught his best friend giving Kenpachi's newest addition.

Before Shunsui could even respond, his Jyuu-chan was already continuing, his firmness melting into a starry-eyed hopefulness. "Can't you imagine it, Shun? A little boy or girl who looks just like me? Calling you oji-san?"

Then, he sighed.

It was the kind of sigh that Shunsui had heard women give him when they saw couples pass by with their own children. The kind of sigh that someone gave when they were window shopping and found something they couldn't afford. Filled with so much wistful longing and hope.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tick-tock. _

What the hell was that damn noise?

Shunsui realized that there was no talking his best friend out of this one. Well, since Jyuushiro was so determined, then the best he could do was be determined, too. He sat up straight, putting his full effort into thought.

Then, it hit him. The fact that he had already reminded himself of earlier.

"Do you even know _what _to do?" he asked, thinking back to the whole sexual repression point.

Jyuushiro glared, not the least bit amused. "_Yes_," he responded testily.

He paused, not quite convinced. "Are you even cap--"

"You _do not_ want to finish that sentence," his best buddy said shortly and quite coldly, the scent of an oncoming storm filling the air.

Shunsui nodded. "Okayyyy."

Jyuushiro was definitely testy about that subject, best to leave it alone.

"So... a wife?"

"A wife," Jyuushiro confirmed.

Sitting back, Shunsui began to ponder. Women were his specialty, after all. Right after sake. And Jyuu-chan.

She would have to be a pretty high seat so that there wouldn't be too much difference in their power levels. Jyuu-chan wouldn't want to outlive his wife. He'd seen enough loss in his lifetime.

And of course, to be suitable for his Jyuu-chan, she would have to be lovely. And kind.

That pretty much threw out Soifon.

Retsu-chan was both, but there was the whole doctor-patient thing. He didn't imagine either of them would be very comfortable in a relationship.

Orihime-chan was a bit too... umm, yeah. Go for it, Renji-kun. Shunsui silently cheered the rather brave, young redhead on.

Yoru-chan didn't want kids. She had made that pretty clear. No babies for her.

_Tick-tock. Tickety-tock._

That damn ticking was getting distracting. Shunsui made a mental note to strangle the clock as soon as he found it.

Hinamori-chan was still in the nut house. She never did get over Aizen's betrayal and defeat, poor girl. And she was so lovely. Except for the whole insane bit, she would have been perfect for his Jyuu-chan.

Matsu-chan... Shunsui didn't want to lose his drinking buddy. He was allowed to be a bit selfish. Besides, to be perfectly honest, she was too slutty for his cute and innocent Jyuu-chan.

Nemu-chan, while very pretty, was a Kurotsuchi. The last thing Soul Society needed was more Kurotsuchi genes being spread around. A definite no.

Isane-chan was married to Shuu-kun. And for such a nice guy, he was awful selfish concerning his wife. He never wanted to share.

Yachiru-chan was far too young, and Shunsui was very disturbed that her name had even crossed his mind. Perhaps he was getting sober. He would have to rectify that.

Rukia-chan would have been perfect, but that would be over her brother's dead body. Which could be arranged, but then, they would be short a captain. Shunsui didn't think Yama-jii would approve.

And while Ichigo-kun would have been a perfect match for his Jyuu-chan, there remained the small fact that he was a man. And well, was married to Izuru-kun.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tick-tock._

All that remained was his cute Nanao-chan.

Who liked books. And worked hard. And berated him when he did wrong with a gentle rap upside the head. She was cute, and she was smart. And she scrunched up her nose when she drank tea that she really liked. And he loved how she would push up her glasses with a finger and give him that look. The same look that Jyuushiro liked to give him.

The realization hit him like an Espada attack, addling his brains.

Nanao _was_ Jyuu-chan. Jyuushiro_ was_ Nanao-chan. They were the same damn person.

How had he not realized it before?

They were _perfect _for each other in every way. And they would make such pretty babies.

But Nanao-chan was _his_ Nanao-chan.

Awwww. He would hate to lose his cute Nanao-chan. But Shunsui supposed for his best buddy, he could take one for the team. What were friends for, after all? And it wasn't like he couldn't get another woman. Plus, he knew he could count on his lovely lieutenant to take care of his most important person.

"Shunsui?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that Jyuushiro was giving him a concerned look. He had been considering for quite a while.

Shunsui sat up straighter. "So... what do you think of Nanao-chan?"

Jyuushiro absorbed his suggestion, pondering it for a moment. Then, he smiled.

_Deviously_.

_Tick-__**tock**__._

* * *

a/n: I'm particularly fond of this one. And the sequel that will eventually follow as well. It amuses me probably more than it should. Heh. Lemme know if ya liked it!


	80. The Laughing Grim Reaper

**Title: The Laughing Grim Reaper**

**Characters: Aizen Sousuke, OC, Ukitake, Urahara**

**Ratings: T**

**Warning: Written before the revelations in the Turn Back the Pendulum Arc. Massive speculation on my part, but it fits with current canon. If you squint.**

**Words: 1,278**

**Description: Altruism is in the eyes of the beholder. **

* * *

Any normal person liked to believe that his choice was the result of a desire to better something greater than himself. But in the end, humans are simple, selfish beings through and through.

Aizen Sousuke was no exception.

For him, taking down Soul Society was more than just instilling his own justice, was more than righting the wrongs that had been cast.

For him, becoming god and king was personal.

The story began many years before the current events, before Aizen plotted and planned, creating an elaborate and complicated journey into godhood. It started long before Hitsugaya received his captain's haori, long before Zaraki Kenpachi stormed into Soul Society and took the eleventh division, long before he had ever heard of Kurosaki Ichigo.

The story began with his first lieutenant, a man who had once been the third-seat in the same division under the same captain as he.

Sohma Shigure was a man he remembered going to Academy with, one of his closest friends in those youthful days. He had known Shigure before then, as a boy he had grown up alongside, a passing acquaintance. Their true friendship started in the Academy, drawing together out of mutual interests and respect, mutual skill.

Shigure never had as much reiatsu as Sousuke in those days, but he was just as skilled. He had perhaps more of a talent in kidoh, though Sousuke could beat him seven times out of ten in a spar. It was only seven because sometimes, Shigure fought dirty.

After graduation, they went their separate ways. Sousuke first labored within the thirteenth division, under the watchful eye of Ukitake Jyuushiro. Shigure was sent straight to the fifth, where he quickly rose in the ranks until he had matched Sousuke in nearly everything.

Sousuke was soon appointed to the fifth division, rejoining his friend once more, taking the recently emptied second-seat. A fortuitous and regrettable Hollow attack of epic proportions had opened it for him. He and Shigure served side by side, as second and third, the pair a great asset to their captain.

Then, the fifth division captaincy became vacant. And Ukitake nominated his former subordinate for the spot. Sousuke was flattered and infinitely proud, modestly accepting the nomination. A week later, he was the new captain with Shigure as his subordinate.

Shigure never seemed to mind, however. Why should he? While Sousuke was busily training to learn his bankai, studying hard and meditating to communicate with Kyouka Suigetsu, Shigure was wooing the ladies. He had a family now, a wife and two children, both very young.

Each had their own accomplishments. There was no reason to brag one way or the other. Sousuke was happy. He was Sou-oji-san. And Shigure was just glad he had a leader he respected, rather than being stuck with someone like the crazed captain of the tenth. Even if he was the grandson of Yamamoto-soutaichou, the man was simply cracked.

Time passed. Their division prospered. Their friendship grew, and Shigure's children slowly aged, the eldest already showing signs of reiatsu.

Sousuke noticed something was odd after the first five years but never said anything. It didn't seem to be too important, questioning his vice-captain always pushed aside for more pressing matters. It didn't appear to be dangerous; it didn't matter that sometimes Shigure's reiatsu pulsed with a faint darkness that had the taint of Hollow. It didn't matter that Urahara Kisuke sometimes shot his lieutenant strange looks.

He had to have been imagining things.

He was so very wrong.

It all happened so fast.

The arrest. The accusations. The imprisonment. There was no such thing as a trial, as justice in Soul Society. Shigure was charged and found guilty within twenty-four hours. Sentencing quickly followed.

Execution on the morrow.

They claimed he was a menace, that he was dabbling in something dangerous, that he was a threat to all of Seireitei. He was siding with the Hollows. He was leading his men purposely into danger. He had betrayed them.

He had given his powers to a human. He stood by and watched a Hollow eat a child for his own amusement. He was committing deprave experiments in the dead of night.

Accusation after accusation, more absurd than anything Sousuke had ever heard. There was nothing he could do but watch.

Watch as the closest thing he had to a best friend was mercilessly executed, no longer crying innocence since no one had bothered to listen before. Ukitake-taichou stood at his side, sympathetic, face pinched into a confused frown. Urahara Kisuke was off to the side, knowledge in his eyes, but he did not speak either.

Sousuke returned to his office, lacking a vice-captain. It would be a long time before he selected another.

He simply couldn't believe all those accusations, not about his dear friend and lieutenant. The only one that even seemed to hold an inkling of truth was the suggestion that Shigure had delved into something he shouldn't have for an increase in power. A Shinigami acquiring the powers of a Hollow. A Vizard.

Shigure's name was stricken from all records; his existence was erased. Those who didn't know him well would eventually forget.

A week after the execution, Sousuke received the message. Sohma Shigure's family had mysteriously disappeared, the wife and her two children. No one could find them, even after tracing the reiatsu of his firstborn son. It was as if they had vanished, truly like a kamikakushi.

Sousuke knew better. It was merely Soul Society's way of tying up loose ends. No doubt they had been silently stolen away in the night and callously murdered. Shigure's innocent wife and children, their lives taken so Seireitei's ugly truth wouldn't ever emerge. This way, no child would be there to seek revenge.

When Sousuke inputted his grand plan, years and years later, Shigure's laughter was on the back of his mind. Calls of Sou-oji-san echoed in his ears. He thought of all the atrocities that Soul Society had committed in the name of justice.

He didn't blink when he stabbed Hinamori Momo. He didn't flinch as he defeated Hitsugaya Toushirou in a single, reflective moment. He was disappointed his kidoh hadn't done more damage to Komamura Sajin. He didn't falter when he betrayed everyone, crunching everything that had made him innocent and docile in his fist.

How could he? Their betrayal had come first.

Long, long ago.

Sousuke would like to believe that he was better than a human, a god really, that he was above petty things like revenge or making choices for personal reasons. He would like to think that he wasn't a selfish man, that his choices were for the good of everyone.

And they were. Soul Society needed to be taken down. It was beyond time for pleasantries and quiet change. Every dark truth needed to be forced into the light. They needed to learn that they weren't unbreakable, that they had weaknesses. That arrogance did not equate strength. That fear was not an excuse to murder children and lie.

They would learn, by his hands, by his plans. They would see their own destruction; they would look in his eyes and see all the innocents they had slain. The Bounto and the Quincy and the Vizard and the Shinigami, who never even committed a sin but were locked away just in case.

_Just in_ _case_.

Sousuke believed that he was above being selfish. That his deeds were for the sake of everyone. Anything else was just happenstance. Accidental.

His own vengeance just happened to coincide with his justice.

It was as simple as that.

* * *

a/n: This _entire_ fic was inspired by the first sentence of this fic. I'm not sure where I heard the phrase - or something similar - but it stuck with me and somehow, I fitted it to Aizen. I'm rather fond of this piece and believe it or not, am writing a full-length fic that is vaguely based on it. The description should show up on my profile soon so keep checking.

Also, got a thought for you guys. I've noticed that there seems to be a lot of confusion within this fic considering all the different mini-series inside it. How many of you vote for me taking out some of the larger mini-series (for example "Never Been Kissed" and "Rukia's Dating Service") and posting them separately?

And keep an eye out for your requests! They are coming! I promise. I've been working on them bit by bit. I've at least reached 100 by my estimation, so there's plenty more ficcage to come. Thanks for reading!


	81. Rukia's Dating ServiceUkitake Take Two

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Jyuushiro (Take Two)**

**Characters: Ichigo, Ukitake Jyuushiro, Kiyone, Sentarou, Rukia**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Crackish**

**Words: 1354**

**Description: Ichigo discovers that there is one man in the world who has worst luck in friends than he does. **

* * *

When Rukia handed him the letter from Jyuushiro, Ichigo was actually happy to receive it for once. He unrolled the parchment and glanced over the message, wondering how Jyuushiro managed to make kanji look elegant. The note was simple, an invitation for dinner to commence at the captain's division in a couple of nights. It was an apology, of sorts, for the ruined date earlier in the month.

Ichigo was all too willing to send a reply of acceptance in return.

Which was why he was currently sitting at a table with the thirteenth division captain, eagerly awaiting the meal being prepared in a nearby kitchen.

"Again, I'd like to apologize for the interruption we experienced last time," Jyuushiro was saying, idly sipping at the tea that had been placed in front of him.

Ichigo shook his head, one finger pushing around his own cup, not really interested in the tea so much as the conversation. "Really, I can understand annoying best friends. I've too many of my own."

Jyuushiro smiled at him. "You say that, but you know you wouldn't trade them in, just like I wouldn't trade my own irritating tag-along."

The two shared an amused chuckle.

Sipping at his drink again, Jyuushiro redirected the conversation. "How is your training coming along?"

Ichigo groaned, covering his face with his hand. "Don't remind me. Kidoh is impossible."

The older man chuckled as sounds from the kitchen began to filter in, the noise of pots and pans clanking and water running. "It only seems that way since it doesn't fit into your normal style of fighting. Believe it or not, Byakuya used to be terrible at kidoh."

Ichigo scowled. "I don't want to be compared to him," he countered, thinking none-too-fondly of the arrogant man that always succeeded in getting on his nerves.

"If you'd like," Jyuushiro suggested, amusement flitting onto his face. "I can give you some pointers. It might not be my specialty like Ise-fukutaichou, but I'm sure I will suffice for a few lessons."

Cheeks gaining a hint of a flush, Ichigo dipped his head. "That would be nice. Thank you."

They shared another smile.

The clamor from the kitchen grew even louder.

Jyuushiro shifted position, ready to begin another topic. "I don't suppose you would--"

Whatever he was going to say was abruptly cut off as the door to the kitchen suddenly burst open, slamming into its slot with a loud bang. Both men jumped as noise invaded the room and its somewhat intimate setting, the sound of two voices rising louder and louder as they competed with each other to be heard.

"I'm the best at making rice, stupid monkey!"

"Ukitake-taichou likes mine better, moron!"

"I brew tea better!"

"No, I do!"

Two Shinigami, whom Ichigo vaguely recognized to be Jyuushiro's third-seats, tumbled into the room, both making a beeline for their captain.

"Ukitake-taichou!" they claimed in unison, pushing and shoving each other out of the way to be the first one there.

Ichigo heard Jyuushiro barely repress an annoyed sigh.

"Sentarou, Kiyone, is there a reason for the interruption?" he asked with infinite patience, though there was a tight clip to his tone.

"See? He said my name first!" the male stated smugly, folding his arms over his face.

The female rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, idiot!"

Jyuushiro didn't bother to hold back his sigh this time as his head fell to his hands, fingers rubbing against his forehead. "I apologize, Ichigo," he said over the noise and din as it grew in volume next to him.

The substitute Shinigami looked at the two third-seats. "Actually, I think it's you that I feel sorry for," he replied, wincing as Kiyone started to grow shrill.

In that moment, another presence joined the madness. Rukia burst onto the scene, managing to surprise all four people within the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, grabbing them each by an ear and hauling them back towards the kitchen. "Can't you see you're spoiling the _**mood**_?" The last was practically screeched as she physically dragged them away.

The door was slammed shut behind the noise. A wall scroll rattled on its perch before giving up its tenacious hold and clattered to the ground.

Ichigo and Jyuushiro blinked at each other.

The door slid open once more. "Excuse me, Ukitake-taichou," Rukia said sweetly as she stuck her head back into the sitting room. "I'm sorry for the noise. I'll get started on dinner right away. Orihime gave me this wonderful recipe."

She smiled brightly and then promptly disappeared.

Jyuushiro took a deep breath, reached for his tea, and then grimaced when he realized it had grown cold. "That was... interesting," he commented.

"I'll say," Ichigo answered, a cold fear curling in his belly. "Did she say Orihime?"

There was a sudden thud from the other room. Something akin to black smoke began to curl out from the bottom of the door.

"Everything's fine!" Rukia's voice announced through the door. "Just enjoy your evening!"

Ichigo wanted to bang his head against the table. Jyuushiro looked as if he wanted to do the same, a pained expression taking over his usual patience.

"Is it just me, or does this happen often? To you, I mean?" Ichigo asked, gesturing with his head towards the possible chaos on the other side of the door.

"It's not just you," Jyuushiro replied, part of him wishing that there were hard liquor in his tea. "This is the story of my life. When I was a child, it was my brothers and sisters. In the Academy, it was a bevy of giggling admirers and then later, Shunsui. As a captain, it was Shunsui. Even now, it's still Shunsui. Except I also get the added bonus of them." He gestured towards the kitchen faintly. "It's enough to drive a person mad."

To accentuate his point, there was another faint booming sound, following immediately by a loud apology.

Ichigo winced. "So I see." He drank his tea, even though it was cold.

Then, the smell hit. Something very unappetizing. Somehow, it had managed to permeate through the door and float with noxious fumes to their noses. It certainly didn't inspire hunger in either of them.

Jyuushiro made a disgusted face. "I don't think I want to taste that."

"I don't either." Ichigo's stomach churned at just the thought.

A very familiar reiatsu began to head their direction, one that made Jyuushiro sigh in frustration and disappointment. He rose to his feet, prompting Ichigo to do the same.

"It appears Matsumoto's distraction failed," he explained as the reiatsu came closer. "They probably ran out of sake. Those two together could drink a bar empty in a few hours."

The two of them escaped from the nauseating smell through a side door, one that led to the back garden where they could breathe easier.

"You know," Jyuushiro began as they stepped onto the porch, looking up at the night sky. "Perhaps it is better that we don't date. It doesn't seem like it's going to even be possible."

Unfortunately, Ichigo had already come to that disappointing decision. He nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

Jyuushiro smiled and leaned over, giving him a rather paternal peck to the forehead. "Though I can still help you with your kidoh, if you'd like."

"I would."

'_Besides, it'll be nice to have an intelligent, rational friend for once_,' Ichigo commented to himself.

There was a slam. "Jyuu-chaaaaan!"

Ichigo's sympathy for the thirteenth division captain rose by leaps and bounds. "You know," he said. "You can still run away. He won't be able to find you in Karakura. I know a great place to hide."

Dark eyes brightened with hope. "You think?"

Ichigo smirked. "I bet."

Fifteen seconds later, when Shunsui appeared on Jyuushiro's back porch, he found it empty. His best friend was nowhere in sight. And there was a nauseating smell coming from the kitchen.

* * *

a/n: Poor, poor Jyuushiro. That man has infinite patience. And my beta and I are having spelling wars with Ukitake's name, so if you keep seeing "u" disappearing and reappearing, that's why.

I hope you liked! Be on the lookout for more! I still haven't made a decision regarding the placement of the larger mini-series, at least not on this site. But my homesite is already in the midst of being separated out, though I'm also keeping a link to the original listing.


	82. Taming of the Shrew

**Title: Taming of the Shrew**

**Pairings/Characters: Ukitake/Nanao, Shunsui**

**Ratings: K+**

**Warning: None**

**Words: 1,184**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Biological Clock**_**. It was all Shunsui's fault. **

* * *

Ise Nanao was confused.

She had been receiving gifts. Which wasn't entirely unusual because her captain often loaded her down with extravagant and unnecessary items. Those usually found their way to the nearest trash or a special huge chest that she had been throwing them into.

But these gifts were different. Special. Actually rather intuitive.

She found them on her desk every morning when she came into work, long before a time when her captain would have been awake and sober. Always elegantly wrapped, with a pretty little bow that was crooked on the left side. Always.

The first one had been her favorite tea, a whole box of it. Which was actually rather expensive and thus usually a rare indulgence. Very few people knew she drank this particular tea, and so, Nanao was baffled.

A week later, books started appearing on her desk, all wrapped in pretty bows tilted to the left side. They were from the library, obviously borrowed on her behalf, and all subjects that she found interesting but hadn't been able to get a hold of. When she looked on the inside cover, she found that they had been borrowed "indefinitely." She could take her time to study rather than rush to return them.

The following week was a smaller, white box, dark blue ribbon wrapped around and crooked to the left side. It chimed softly when she picked it up, and upon opening, Nanao discovered hair pins. Very pretty ones that shimmered gently in the light. Even now she wore one of them, unable to stop admiring their beauty in the mirror.

Every week brought a new gift, always the same in its wrapping. And always anonymous. Why, once she even discovered her paperwork for the coming week entirely finished. Even the work by her stubborn lower-seats, who often proved to be so difficult. And she actually found time to herself, which was probably the greatest gift of all.

Ise Nanao had an admirer. Or at least, that was what Matsumoto had claimed when Nanao spoke to her about the gifts.

More than that, she had a secret admirer, since the giver had yet to identify his or herself. After all, Matsumoto had warned her not to completely rule out another woman. While Nanao herself was not inclined towards affections with women, she supposed her friend had a point. And for someone this generous and persistent, Nanao secretly admitted that she might be willing to try.

Of course, telling Matsumoto inevitably meant that the rest of Seireitei would also find out.

The Shinigami Woman's Association thought it cute, encouraging her to discover the identity, congratulating her on capturing some poor sap's heart.

Nanao tried to act annoyed, but inwardly, she really was flattered. The gifts were intuitive and well thought out, definitely better than her captain's blatant and often wrong attempts at winning her favor. She was of the mind that if Shunsui really wanted to impress her, he could learn to do his paperwork on time and realize that her name in no way, shape, or form required the use of _chan_.

Still, Nanao wasn't as annoyed by the association's good-natured congratulations as she was by her captain's not so subtle insinuations. He kept making mentions of getting married and having children and creating a family and all that jazz. She simply struck him with her book and frostily ignored him, never admitting aloud that the thought was actually kind of appealing.

So long as that whole plan did not include her captain.

Or Kurotsuchi Mayuri. There were some lines that Nanao would not cross. That was one of them.

Then, Ise Nanao discovered the truth.

She came in earlier than usual one day, having woken to bright sunshine and feeling generally more chipper than normal. Rolling out of bed in a relatively good mood, she decided there was no harm in heading in early.

That was when she caught him, stealthily sneaking into her office and laying something on her desk. On second glance, it turned out to be her favorite flower. And there was a ribbon around the elegant pot, artfully knotted with a bow that was crooked to the left.

"You!" Nanao stated very intelligibly, nearly dropping her book. "It's been you!"

Ukitake Jyuushiro turned with a sheepish expression and a kind smile on his face. "Ah, you caught me," he said, patting down his robes.

Nanao blinked, adjusting her glasses. "You... why?"

"Did you not like the gifts?" he asked instead. Still smiling. One hand nudging the flower into a better position on her desk.

She was flabbergasted. "That's not..." Nanao paused, sucked in a breath, reached for something more appropriate to say. "I mean, thank you."

"You're welcome!" he beamed, making him look several years younger; he really was an attractive man. "Though I admit they weren't entirely altruistic."

"I see." Nanao adjusted her glasses again.

She still couldn't wrap her mind around it. Ukitake-taichou had been bringing her the gifts? He was her secret admirer? She should have known, judging from the style of the presents and the shrewdness.

Ukitake-taichou cleared his throat. "The pin. It looks lovely on you. I thought it would."

To her surprise, a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you," Nanao managed without stuttering, one hand rising to briefly touch the sparkling metal. Where was her calm? "You have great taste."

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence where he stepped closer. Why hadn't she realized how tall he was before? And handsome. Perhaps his friendship with Shunsui had always made her so oblivious because really, he had the prettiest eyes. And hair.

"You wouldn't, perhaps, be interested in having dinner with me?" Ukitake-taichou inquired softly.

Nanao blinked. It took a moment to register that she had spoken to her. She was too busy admiring him.

Her cheeks burned. "I..."

"Tonight," Ukitake-taichou added with that dazzling smile, which was just as all encompassing. "I'll pick you up?"

Somehow, she managed to make her head nod. He smelled very good, like the ground after a fresh rainfall and the heaviness of the air before a spring storm.

Had she been living in a box? How had she not noticed any of this before? Was Shunsui so much of a distraction that her brain had rotted and dribbled from her ears? It must have for her to have missed _this_. Missed him.

He smiled again. "Great. I'm happy to hear it. See you tonight." Ukitake-taichou inclined his head in a sort of bow and walked past her, heading to the door. Only to pause and turn back.

"One more thing?"

She turned to him, clutching her book to her chest as if it were a lifeline.

"What do you think about children?"

Nanao blinked. "Someday?"

His eyes sparkled. "Great! See you tonight! And it's Jyuushiro, by the way."

Then, he was gone. And she could breathe again, her eyes locked on the plant he had brought for her. Elegant petals. Her very favorite.

Ise Nanao had a date.

A date with Ukitake Jyuushiro.

* * *

a/n: The mini-series began with Kenpachi adopting a new brat and ended with Ukitake and Nanao agreeing to a date. I really don't know how that happened. lol

Still, I hope you enjoyed. I don't know if any more are going to be added to this set, so we'll see.

Also, keep an eye out for your requests! I've pulled up my little request-document and have been methodically filling them in one by one. If you have any more, be sure to send them in, because I'll be ending the open call in September (as in September 30th). With all the long-fics I've got on my roster (check out the profile to see what's up and coming), I don't want to promise a bunch of requests and not have time to fill them. It shames me that I still have some from last year that have gone unanswered, so I'm making an effort to get them all done!

Still no decision on pulling out the larger mini-series on this site. But thanks to everyone for their input! I should be coming to a conclusion within the next couple of weeks.

Thanks, everyone, for your continued support!


	83. Quiet Destruction

**Title: Quiet Destruction**

**Pairings: Ichigo/Grimmjow**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Lots of spoilers. Like a lot. Don't read if you haven't read past chapter 280**

**Words: 756**

**Description: The last look Ichigo saw in his eyes was loneliness.**

* * *

It didn't seem like it, but there was a healthy respect between him and Grimmjow. It was entirely beneath the surface and invisible to the naked eye, but nevertheless, it was present.

They understood each other on some base level. The need to be stronger, even if was for that reason alone. The want to be the best, to be unbeatable and unbreakable. Loving one's pride and refusing to let it go, refusing to be cowed by rules and regulations.

Ichigo understood Grimmjow a lot better than he ever told anyone.

He also kept it to himself just how much alike he thought they were. He and an Espada. A Vizard and Shinigami substitute was just the same as an Arrancar. At least, in his view.

When they fought, Ichigo truly felt as if he could let go. He threw everything he had into it, not just because he wanted to save Inoue and defeat Aizen and protect everything important to him. But also because he wanted to fight Grimmjow; he wanted to show the Arrancar how much he had improved. To show him that the determination that lit his eyes was the same as Grimmjow's.

Perhaps on some level, he wanted the Espada to know just how alike they were.

He took no pleasure in stabbing Grimmjow, the satisfaction at winning fading quickly in the end. Grimmjow, the bastard, he had time to block the blow. He could have done something. But Ichigo saw the defeat in that expression moments before his zanpakutou pierced Grimmjow's flesh. The Arrancar had already accepted his end.

It made him angry for reasons he couldn't understand. It made him feel as if he had been cheated out of the victory he was owed, out of the understanding they were supposed to share beneath the surface.

He watched with scattered emotions, removing Zangetsu and watching as Grimmjow's eyes slid closed, surrendering to the inevitable.

The last look Ichigo saw in Grimmjow's blue eyes was undeniably loneliness, so strong and consuming it couldn't help but show itself in the face of what seemed to be an inevitable death.

He fell. And Ichigo moved before he could stop himself, grasping Grimmjow's hand in his before the man could even touch the ground. He didn't want to see the Espada crash to the ground in an undignified pile. That feeling of being cheated rose up strongly again. That feeling of anger and sorrow bundling up into a messy coil in his belly and gnawing at his insides forced him to act before he could even think it through.

He stared at the Arrancar for several long moments because he couldn't understand. This string that had bound them, this understanding. That loneliness, it meant something. Only, he wasn't sure what exactly. He just knew it was important.

A kinship perhaps. Maybe it was the resonance of Hollow within himself and within Grimmjow. Maybe it was the knowledge that they had always sought the same thing, that there was nothing wrong with wanting to be stronger. Maybe it was the loneliness.

Whatever the reason, even as he walked away from Grimmjow, to actually attend to the reason he had invaded Hueco Mundo to begin with, he couldn't forget that last look. Both grateful and angry, bitter but resigned. Accepting that it was his fate, to die then and there. Alone and beaten.

It rang strongly inside of Ichigo, a constant presence at the back of his mind and a constant clenching inside of him. It was so achingly known to him, that loneliness. An arrogant sort of isolation, brought about by what was believed to be necessary.

It was loud enough, familiar enough, that Ichigo had every intention to return. That he had plans to ask Inoue to heal Grimmjow as the Arrancar had done for him. A part of him strongly wanted Grimmjow to live, perhaps to find that understanding. Even he wasn't entirely sure _why_; he just knew it was something he needed to do.

He never expected Nnoitra's arrival. He never expected Nel's change. Or Kenpachi's appearance. Or Aizen's attack. Or any of it.

He protected Grimmjow not out of pity or spite but because he honestly didn't want to see the Arrancar die. If he had, he would have killed Grimmjow himself. There was that kinship, that perception, that _something_ curling in his gut that he had to comprehend.

In the end, Ichigo never got the chance.

And that, perhaps, was his biggest regret of all.

* * *

a/n: So yeah, I've never been fond of this pairing. But after watching that episode right before the filler arc -cough-Soul Society Regurgitated Arc-cough- began, this sort of grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. I wrote it in like three minutes tops. And now it's one of my favorites. I don't even know why I'm not fond of this pairing. Maybe because no one's really written it in a way I like yet. Which is entirely possible. I'm very, very picky about what I read. But, you guys don't want to read all my blabber.

I hope you liked it! And for anyone who skipped the last update because it was het, I just want to remind you guys that I'll be closing down the open requests at the end of September. So if you have one, get it in here before then.

Thanks everyone! See you next time!


	84. Mind Over Matter

**Title: Mind Over Matter**

**Characters: Nanao**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: None**

**Words: 649**

**Description: Strength. People see it as a mass of muscle, the ability to swing a sword and smash into things. Nanao sees it as being smarter than everyone else.**

**Dedication: For darkangel11910, who wanted a Nanao-introspective.**

* * *

Strength.

Nanao finds it an intriguing concept, one that she has considered time and time again.

Many of her fellows see it as something purely physical, a mass of muscle or the ability to swing a sword and cut a chasm in the ground. They see it as the power to smash through walls and shed blood without a second thought. They see it as the might to exact a coup against Soul Society, defeating others with only a blink.

However, Nanao is different. She sees strength as something else. Nanao sees it as being smarter than everyone else. And she knows that strength isn't everything. That even in the end, intelligence will be what wins the war.

She doesn't have the strength of her own captain, not the huge stores of reiatsu or even the ability to stop zanpakutou with just her fingers. Nanao is better at kidoh, at strategy. She knows that if it came down to it, she couldn't win a fist fight.

That doesn't bother her. Not when she knows that she will always be smarter.

She sits and thinks about it. She watches those who others consider strong. Her own captain, who will always be a lush and a drunk. Watches Ukitake-taichou, who is full of power but is weakened by his own sickness. And Yamamoto-soutaichou's ability, which is so powerful it's ridiculous. So immense that he has no choice but to always fight alone lest he destroy his own allies.

She considers Soifon-taichou who never smiles because she believes that if she continues to train, continues to make her division as strong as she can, then her dearest one will come back to her. Soifon is not strong, but she is fast. She is sneaky. She will do whatever it takes.

Nanao thinks of Zaraki because the eleventh division captain is undoubtedly powerful in his own way. His reiatsu is like a wild force, a burning blaze completely out of control. It is consuming and breathtaking. Yet, the man doesn't even know his zanpakutou's name. He does nothing with his power but fight and has no purpose but the desire to battle against those stronger than he. She considers it a waste.

She draws it all out, in charts and graphs, measures and considers. She rates their strengths, slowly discerning one by one who may or may not be stronger. It is part of her personality, part of her will, to analyze and consider. She knows all their weaknesses, how quickly they could be taken down in an instant, despite their physical power.

Her own captain is easily distracted. He would never harm a woman. And if anything were to ever happen to Ukitake-taichou in battle, he would find himself faltering if only for a second. It would be the perfect time for an enemy to strike. Nanao knows this.

Ukitake's illness is not his only weakness. He is often too kind and too merciful. It would be simple for an enemy he has allowed to live to stab him in the back. His honor will kill him one day, and all the power in the world will not be able to save him.

The soutaichou's weakness is his age. It slows him down, makes him more susceptible to speed. He can easily be taken out by a sneak attack. And for all his power, he is vulnerable. He is forced to always fight alone and wouldn't trust an ally at his back even if he were able to have one.

For each of the captains, she has cataloged their abilities. For each of the lieutenants, for the third-seats, for the fourth-seats, even for some of the fifth-seats. She knows their zanpakutou, their releases. She knows what kidoh they use, what skills they prefer. Their battle style.

She knows their power, knows all their weaknesses. How easy it would be to defeat all of them. And that, Nanao thinks, is the greatest strength of all.

* * *

a/n: OMG! Can it be? She didn't write a pairing fic this time?? And it's a request! Yep, I'm finally getting some of these out. The next few or so should be requests since I went on a little writing flurry.

Hope you liked!

BTW, if you're a fan of _Minutes to Midnight_, there won't be an update this week while I write some more chapters but my beta, the lovely Lady Azar, has written a prequel to the entire series. The link's in my profile so give her some love!


	85. The Usual Spot

**Title: The Usual Spot**

**Pairings: Komamura/Soifon**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Spoilers for the Soul Society Arc, Crack**

**Words: 593**

**Description: Completely unexpected but not entirely unwanted. There's comfort in shared loneliness. **

**  
Dedication: For Viashino Wizard, who wanted a Komamura/Soifon, either serious or humorous. **

* * *

Ever since the betrayal, he's made it a habit to come here. He isn't sure why but something about the place soothes him, something about the greenery and the quietly trickling water eases all of the confusion.

Sajin likes the large garden with its fresh scents and its aura of peace, even if he knows destruction and war lie just beyond the gates. It makes it easy to pretend, if only for a minute, that everything is as it used to be. Kaname is still there with him and not off finding what he claims to be justice. He finds he can temporarily forget the feelings of betrayal and loneliness.

It's also the place that he met her.

It surprises him at first, just how much they have in common. They sit next to each other in complete silence, sitting and staring at the babbling stream and not talking. That first day, nothing is ever said. She is the first to leave, he following only seconds later.

It is like that for a week. Sometimes, he arrives first; sometimes, she does. They join each other in complete silence, staring and mediating, thinking and wondering. And then, he is the first one to break the shared quiet. He speaks of Kaname and their friendship. He talks of justice and the lack thereof. He discusses philosophy and strength.

She listens. He supposes that is all that matters. She interjects when necessary, but mostly, she listens. Sajin is glad for it.

The next day it is her turn. He is quiet as she relates her story. Of someone who believed in her, of a dearest friend. Of something that could have been love but might have just been hero-worship the entire time. Of being left behind and forgotten without a warning or word. Of heavy expectations.

For the first time as she speaks, he sees her lips curl into a faint smile. Something that is so rarely seen. And it makes his own heart lighten. It is a beautiful smile, almost innocent with a bare shine of hope. It makes her younger, more like the kind girl he hears rumors she used to be. It makes her honest and sweet. He finds himself wanting to see it more and more.

After that, they meet every day. Sometimes just sitting in silence, sometimes to actually talk. They share their loneliness, their feelings of betrayal. And since her lost one has returned, she can offer encouragement in her own way. She helps him understand his own justice and not what has led Kaname astray. She shows him how to cope.

She doesn't flinch at his appearance, doesn't mock him for it. She is one of the few who doesn't even blink. She touches his arm one day, just to get his attention. He still remembers the warmth of her fingers against his fur-covered skin.

She tells him that she is drawn to the garden for its simplicity and for its reminder to a special day in her life. She enjoys being surrounded by the quiet and calm, a place where there are no expectations.

Sajin simply enjoys being with her.

It's strange. Before there had only been Tousen, the other captain has always been his only friend. Now, he has her. He is no longer so alone. With Kaname's treachery came something else, something equally valuable.

But still, who would have ever suspected that he and Soifon would have so much in common? Certainly not himself and certainly not her, he was sure of it.

* * *

a/n: Yeah, strange pairing I know. But it was a request and it intrigued me and now I'm rather proud of it. So I hope you guys like it, too! It's a double update this week since I have such a backstock in this series.

Just a reminder, September 30th is the last day I'll be taking requests. So be sure to get those in. Thanks everyone!


	86. Rukia's Dating Service Iba

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Iba**

**Characters: Ichigo, Rukia, Iba Tetsuzaemon **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crackish**

Words: 1368

**Description: The worst date ever. Seriously. **

* * *

"Tilt your head back!"

"It _is_ tilted back!" Ichigo snarled and then promptly groaned as more blood streaked from his nostrils.

Above him and with a towel in one hand, Rukia shook her head as she pinched his nose, trying to slow the bleeding. "I can't believe this happened," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "Thank kami I sent that note to Aizen."

"Wha? Ai'en?" His words sounded slurred thanks to the cloth over his nose. But Rukia didn't answer, instead popping him over the head with the palm of her hand.

"Be still, idiot, so I can get the bleeding stopped."

Glaring, Ichigo did as she was told. "S'your fault!" he reminded her.

"You're dripping all over the floor," she countered, and then, the healing tingle of reiatsu and kidoh washed over him. "Yuzu's gonna be pissed. Or at least her version of it. I still don't know how that happened; it hasn't rained since that downpour this morning."

"S'your fault," Ichigo repeated. He seemed stuck on that fact.

"And where is your shoe?" Rukia demanded, completely ignoring his accusations. "I've seen you in a better state after fighting captains of the Gotei 13!"

Ichigo ignored her, patiently waiting for the bleeding of his nose to subside. They must have looked silly, him on his back on the floor, Rukia straddling him and pressing a cloth to his nose. He was soaking the tile beneath him with his wet clothes as Rukia fussed at him. And it was all her fault.

_Entirely_.

The date with Iba hadn't even been his idea to begin with; it had been hers. She had tricked him into it as usual so that he and the seventh division vice-captain were set up to see a concert. Her excuse was pathetic. Iba had apologized, saying that no one else wanted to go with him, but then, Rukia had told him that Ichigo liked the band.

Ichigo had the strong suspicions that Iba wasn't even gay. Not that that particular little fact ever really mattered to Rukia. After all, nor was Kenpachi, Toushirou, Yumichika, or Ikkaku. Renji had been pining after his captain, if he squinted. And Ukitake-san... well, that had had the potential for working out if it weren't for outside interference. Ichigo's rate of success was pretty much zero.

In any case, Tetsuzaemon had shown up on time, and Ichigo had gone with him. That was when things began to go horribly and terribly wrong.

At the concert hall, they had realized that somewhere along the way, Tetsuzaemon had lost the tickets. The concert had been sold out, and there had been no possible method of getting inside.

Plans ruined, the two had decided they might as well spend Rukia's money and go see a movie. Ichigo suspected that Tetsuzaemon had been coerced into the date as much as he had.

On the way to the theater, the car had broken down. They had been forced to walk the rest of the way, which was luckily only a few blocks. A part of Ichigo had wondered when Tetsuzaemon had gotten his driver's license... and the car for that matter.

Unluckily, by the time they arrived at the theater, the movie they had wanted to see had already begun, more than thirty minutes prior. Neither had wanted to watch it from the middle, and it had been the last showing of the evening. The only thing left for them to see had been some child's movie about stuffed teddy bears who emitted powerful and colorful energy from their bellies.

Needless to say, neither Ichigo nor Tetsuzaemon had been particularly interested.

They had decided on dinner.

Stepping to the edge of the sidewalk, Ichigo had proceeded to hail for a cab, since the car was still broken some ten blocks away.

To add to an already perfect evening, none had passed. But another car had, swerving close to the sidewalk. Its tires had streamed through a thick puddle of rainwater, left over from an early storm, promptly spraying both men in a heavy sheen of water. Ichigo had been left spitting out muddy water as Iba shook it from his thick sunglasses. Which he still wore. Even though it was night.

Cursing in tandem, they had decided to head into the city, hoping to find a bar. Well, Iba had wanted to find a bar. Ichigo just had wanted to find a place where he could sit and rethink his life, including the moment he had met a Shinigami by the name of Kuchiki Rukia.

Tetsuzaemon had claimed he knew where he was going because Renji had given him directions.

They had been lost in ten minutes. So lost that not even Ichigo had been sure where they were and couldn't begin to guide them home. Or somewhere close to it.

Irritated, wet, and tired Ichigo had finally drawn to a halt beneath a streetlight at the top of a hill. Nearby, had been a vaguely familiar river moving in a channel.

Ichigo had leaned against the light, trying to wring water from his ruined shirt. Tetsuzaemon had stepped in front of him, his brow furrowed in thought. The substitute Shinigami had had no clue what the man was thinking.

Somewhere in the distance, Ichigo could have sworn that he heard soft, instrumental music beginning to play. Had it been any other situation, it would have been romantic. But he had been in no mood for romance. Apparently, however, that had not been the case for Tetsuzaemon.

Ichigo was pretty sure he could blame that on Rukia, too.

Tetsuzaemon had leaned in. Ichigo had taken a step back, away from the light. The vice-captain's feet had somehow found a banana peel, from where even Ichigo didn't know. Tetsuzaemon had slipped, head-butting Ichigo in the face and promptly smashing his nose.

It had been like a domino effect.

They had fallen down the hill in a tangled heap, picking up mud and grass on their tumble down. The two men had ended up in a pile at the bottom, luckily not falling all the way into the river. The only positive about the whole thing had been that Iba lost his glasses. Finally.

His eyes were brown, by the way.

Thoroughly disgusted with the entire debacle, Ichigo had hauled himself to his feet. He had grasped Iba by the back of his "stylish" leather jacket and had dragged him all the way back to Urahara's shop. Ironically, it had been only a couple of blocks away.

Sensing their reiatsu, the door had already been opening by the time they had arrived. Urahara had swung it open, a smile on his face and jokes on his lips... which had quickly died when he took in Ichigo's appearance.

Thrusting Tetsuzaemon towards the shopkeeper and narrowly avoiding an aerial attack from a half-dressed Isshin who had appeared out of nowhere, Ichigo had turned and stalked towards his home. Blood had dripped from his injured nose.

And that was how Rukia had found him when he had arrived home.

Like Ichigo said. All her fault.

* * *

Aizen Sousuke, lord and master of Hueco Mundo, was bored.

All of his plans were going as he had instructed. Soul Society had not attacked recently nor did he have any plans to do so himself.

Gin was off terrorizing some of the lower Arrancar, and Kaname was muttering about justice in some far corner, brainwashing Wonderwice's mind with his concept of truth and happiness. Aizen had forced Ulquiorra to do some research, unable to deal with the Espada's fawning any longer.

In short, he had nothing to do and plenty of time to do it in.

But then, a small insect flittered into his vision. Aizen furrowed his brow, wondering what a Hell Butterfly would be doing in Las Noches.

It fluttered in front of his face, hovering expectantly.

Aizen lifted a hand, holding a finger out for the butterfly to perch on. With a bob of its antennae, the insect landed. Seconds later, the message it contained began to relay to him.

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk painting his lips with interest. "Date?"

* * *

a/n: I find this one more amusing than I probably should. And yes, it's full of crack. You'll probably find references to other anime, too. If you look.

I hope you enjoyed!


	87. Blissfully Everafter

**Title: Blissfully Ever After**

**Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Jyuushiro, Shunsui, Yoruichi and Urahara in spirit**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Light Yaoi**

**Words: 1,320**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Shotgun Wedding**_**. The honeymoon is over, and now, reality sets in.**

* * *

"Ichigo, this isn't going to work out."

There was a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I know. I still love you though."

The bed creaked slightly as Jyuushiro rolled over, tracing a finger over his husband's bare back and causing Ichigo to shiver. "He is my dear friend, but--"

"He can't live here for the rest of his life!" Ichigo inserted in an exasperated tone, telling himself he was absolutely not sulking.

"I entirely agree," Jyuushiro responded with a nod. His finger trailed along Ichigo's spine, thoughts of what lay at the end of his path sparking in his mind. "Perhaps he needs a wife."

Ichigo snorted, even as he pressed closer to his husband. "Or a mother? A babysitter? A baby? Something?" he suggested, fully prepared to roll over and kiss Jyuushiro.

Until footsteps echoed down the hall, sockless feet plick-placking against the wood. They watched as Shunsui flittered by their door, only glancing in once. The married couple breathed a sigh of relief, which was short-lived as the man paused and retracted a few steps.

He hovered in the doorway, a broad grin on his face and seemingly oblivious to the naked state of the other two. "You guys need to get up soon," he announced. "I'm making waffles!"

And then, he was gone, padding towards the kitchen.

Ichigo groaned, flopping down against the bed and landing on his back. "I hope they're not sake-flavored this time."

"He means well," Jyuushiro began, but not even he could seem to dredge up a defense for his best friend anymore.

"I know that!" Ichigo responded with a faint huff. "And I like the man. Just... not in my house. All the fuckin' time. It's been two goddamned years! Two, Jyuu!"

Jyuushiro sighed. His husband had a point.

Beside him, Ichigo continued, waving a hand for emphasis. "I mean. He can live in a house next door. Just not here. _With us. **All the time**_. Not even Goat-Face is this bad."

Jyuushiro banged his head against his pillow. "I know," he groaned, wanting to be intimate with his husband but feeling the frustration of the situation. "He just won't leave."

Silence fell as the married couple considered all that they had tried. Scaring him off with rampant copulation at the most oddest places and entirely _in flagrante_ didn't phase Shunsui. Nor did repeated hints at wanting to be left alone. Nor did outright asking. Shunsui only seemed to think it meant for a few hours or even a day. He didn't want to accept that they meant _entirely_ out of the house.

"So back to the wife idea," Jyuushiro suggested, completely at his wit's end.

Ichigo pursed his lips in consideration. "But who can we dump him on? Nanao-san has made it pretty clear that she doesn't want him."

"I believe her exact words were 'Isn't being his vice-captain enough punishment?,'" Jyuushiro quoted.

The two sighed in tandem.

There was another moment of deep thought.

"Soifon would whip him into shape," Jyuushiro suggested, thinking of the stern-faced captain who would be quite lovely if she just smiled.

Ichigo snorted. "Before or after she murdered him in his sleep?"

In the distance, the sound of loud and off-key singing echoed throughout the house. It was a rendition of a really bad love song that, unfortunately, they now knew all the words to thanks to Shunsui.

"If only Retsu-chan were still alive," Jyuushiro commented wistfully. "Shun always listened to her."

"Everyone listened to Unohana-san," Ichigo corrected. "She was kindly scary." A pause in which he remembered a particularly frightening encounter before he continued, "Besides, I doubt she'd take him either. And neither would Isane. I don't think her girlfriend would like that."

Jyuushiro inched closer to his husband, wrapping an arm around Ichigo's waist and contemplated an early-morning romp. "No, I don't suppose she would." He hummed in thought. "Well, there's Rangiku-san. Or Nemu-san. Or Yachiru..."

The two paused.

"She does like Shunsui," Ichigo murmured, lifting a hand and casually setting it on his husband's waist, fingers drawing teasing circles.

Jyuushiro pressed a kiss to Ichigo's shoulder. "And she has managed to tame Kenpachi."

"But would she be the wife or the mother?" Ichigo countered, stretching languorously against the bed and cupping his fingers around his husband's backside.

"Ah, yes. Good point. Perhaps someone else."

Jyuushiro pondered, moving his mouth to Ichigo's rather tasty looking throat and nibbling. Ichigo purred beneath his touch, baring his neck for him. It was then that Jyuushiro recalled a faint, embarrassing memory which caused his cheeks to redden.

He coughed lightly, flicking his tongue against Ichigo's ear. "There is always Yoruichi-san."

In the background, a very loud crash interrupted the sound of singing. The married couple winced simultaneously. The noise was quickly followed by the tinkle of broken glass.

Ichigo groaned. "That better not have been the tea set Yuzu gave me for my birthday last year."

"Ooops!" Shunsui sang from the kitchen. "I'll buy you another one."

And then, the singing continued. Though it didn't seem possible, it was even louder than before.

Burying his face in his husband's neck, Ichigo exhaled very loudly. "So Yoruichi-san," he put in, willing to take anyone at this point. "They would make a good couple."

"They would be a great match," Jyuushiro agreed, hoping to soothe the younger man's ire with a teasing brush of his hand over a bare stomach.

"She already has an annoying roommate," Ichigo added, perking noticeably. "What's one more?" His body began to stir, growing interested in this idea of an early morning romp that his lover was not-so-subtly suggesting to him.

Jyuushiro grinned and rolled on top of him, pressing their hips together. He leaned in for a scorching kiss as Ichigo's legs wrapped around his waist.

"Waffles!" Shunsui suddenly sang from their doorway, causing both to jump in surprise. "Come on, you lazy bums!"

And then, he was gone again.

Jyuushiro and Ichigo exchanged a glance, the moment lost. Even Ichigo knew when the Kurosaki stubbornness was defeated by a stronger foe. He grudgingly threw back the blankets and reached for his house yukata, Jyuushiro doing the same.

"I'll send her a Hell Butterfly after breakfast," Ichigo stated wearily, the sound of some kind of bawdy, barroom song beginning to waft from the kitchen.

Thinking of his unsated libido, Jyuushiro couldn't have been any more relieved.

* * *

_Two weeks later..._

"What's this?"

Ichigo's finger slid under the flap, and he tore open the envelope. A small piece of paper was within. He tipped it over, the square dropping into his hand.

"It's a letter," Jyuushiro said, peering over his shoulder, even as he pressed a kiss to his husband's neck. "I have one, too."

Ichigo tilted his head to the side. "Really? What's yours say?"

"It's good news," Jyuushiro answered, giving another kiss followed by a nuzzle. "Unfold yours, and I'll read mine."

Jyuushiro cleared his throat. "_Dearest Jyuu-chan, I'm having a great time in Karakura. Yoru-chan sends her love and thanks. We're very special friends.__ From your bestest buddy, Shun._"

The white-haired captain chuckled to himself as he refolded the letter and stuck it up his sleeve. "What about yours?"

Beside him, Ichigo was smirking. "_My dearest Kurosaki-kun_," Ichigo began aloud, barely controlling his laughter. "_Take him back. I no longer want your castoffs. Need I remind you that child abandonment is a crime. Take. Him. Back. With utter contempt and loathing, Urahara Kisuke._"

The muffled sound next to Ichigo was Jyuushiro's attempt to conceal his own laughter. "Do we feel the least bit ashamed?" he asked rhetorically.

Ichigo balled the paper up and threw it on the floor behind him. "Not a chance." He grabbed Jyuushiro by the waist and drew him in for a steamy kiss.

"So," his husband panted after they drew apart. "Sex on the kitchen table?"

Ichigo smirked. "Meet you there."

And they congratulated themselves on a job well done.

* * *

a/n: If anyone gets the reference to a certain animated movie by Dreamworks, let me know! And yes, this is the last one in this little series that began with Five Times Ukitake Tried to Get Laid (And the one time he succeeded).

Just a reminder. Last chance for requests! I'm not taking anymore after September 30th. I'll be posting up a list of all the requests I've received on my homesite and if you don't see yours on there, send me a PM or something. I have a feeling I might be missing some. And I'll know if you're trying to sneak one in there that hasn't been mentioned before. Truuuust me.

With that said, I hope you enjoyed!


	88. The Taste of Sin

**Title: The Taste of Sin**

**Pairings: Gin/Toushirou**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Implied Yaoi**

**Words: 523**

**Description: He's never been afraid of heights, of the edge, and isn't about to start now. **

**  
Dedication: For Animelover143, who wanted a Gin/Toushirou. **

* * *

He likens their relationship to standing on a cliff. It's dangerous, but there is exhilaration in standing on the edge. Looking down into the dark depths from a great height makes his heart pound with excitement. He can't help but toe the line and walk the edge, waiting to see how far he can push before falling and becoming a messy splatter on the ground.

There's something wrong in being attracted to the boy. He really is young, despite how old he tries to pretend to be. He is innocent and naïve yet steeped in battle and blood. He is strong, a god incarnate as many claim. And yet, so very fragile and needy. To Gin, he is beautiful, even when he frowns, his face pinched with his displeasure and annoyance.

Gin can't help but love that dichotomy.

Just like a cliff with its allure of danger, Gin is drawn to Toushirou. He can't help but want to touch the boy, to press his thin fingers into that pale skin. He loves the sound of Toushirou saying his name and in a voice that blends need and fear and indignation. He loves to watch his flesh turn colors, faint pinks and reds. He can't help but admire each impression of teeth he leaves behind.

He loves the double sin in craving this boy, the two stigmas in their relationship. Both are men. Toushirou is young. It is those immoralities that make his heart throb with interest. It is so wrong, and he loves it. He craves it and bathes in it. Like the fresh scent of blood on a battlefield or the heady taste of power and bursts of reiatsu. So crisp and clear.

He has always been one to tread the line, to walk the edge. He stands on the precipice and gazes down, measures how far it is to the deep. He wonders if he will be pushed, or if he will fall of his own choice.

He knows that no matter how it ends it will be worth it. For the taste of Toushirou on his lips, fresh and sweet, like the flavor of innocence. For the sound of the boy-captain's cries in his ears, both those of pleasure and his sarcastic barbs. For the feel of chilly reiatsu pushing at his skin whenever Toushirou is annoyed. For the knowledge that everything reflecting in Toushirou's eyes, the understanding of lusts and power and emotions are all due to his teachings.

Yes, Gin thinks it will all be worth it in the end. Will be worth the reckless balancing on the edge. Toushirou is rare and unusual, is strong and weak, is everything that captures a man like Gin.

And he can't help but sin just a bit more. Hell, it's not as if he's ever been particularly angelic in the first place.

What's one more misdeed to add to the list?

* * *

a/n: Double update this week! Yay! And a request, too! I've been trying to focus a bit more on those so start looking for yours. Thanks to everyone who took the time to request!


	89. Of Past and Peppermints

**Title: Of Past and Peppermints**

**Pairings/Characters: Urahara/Byakuya, Yoruichi**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Maybe Spoilers**

**Words: 1,750**

**Description: Regrets are something Kisuke rarely allows himself, except this one. **

**  
Dedication: To Silverblaise, who wanted Urahara/Byakuya. And thanks to TheSorrowfulVampress who gave me the prompt I needed to get my ass in gear.  
**

* * *

He lays the bag in front of Byakuya, alongside his tea cup and waits for the Kuchiki heir's reaction as he kneels across from him. Byakuya lifts a brow in confusion, especially for the gaudy color of the ribbon tied around the plastic cellophane's top.

Kisuke smiles at the younger man's reaction, gesturing to the bag. "They're one of your favorites, aren't they?"

There is a pause before Byakuya inclines his head. "I'm surprised you remembered," he responds, something in his expression softening ever-so-slightly.

"Well, of course I did, Byakuya-bo. How could I forget?"

Grey eyes harden sharply. "Don't call me that."

Kisuke chuckles to himself, if only to ease the gentle tension sweeping through the room. "It hasn't been that long, my dear Kuchiki-sama."

He receives a frosty glare in return. Kisuke sighs and swipes off his hat, setting it down at his side. He looks at the person sitting across from, having grown into a man in Kisuke's long absence. He has suffered, and he has matured, but he is in many ways still the same brat.

"You will never forgive me for leaving, will you?"

The man doesn't answer, simply sips his tea. Kisuke knows why. He had known of Byakuya's crush before leaving, but the boy had been just that. He didn't dare cross that line, especially since he was a Kuchiki. No matter how much he had been intrigued. Even if he had always considered Byakuya beautiful and amusing to rile. He can remember fondly visiting the boy with Yoruichi, watching the two of them play tag and ruthlessly cheering for both sides.

He remembers talking with Byakuya, seeing the blush that the young heir couldn't hide. He remembers advising the boy, sparring with him when Yoruichi was busy. He remembers how lonely the heir had been and how much he had hurt to see Byakuya that very alone.

Like everyone else he knew, he'd had no choice but to leave the boy behind. Yet, Yoruichi had done so as well, leaving Byakuya alone again. With two types of heartache, friendship and unrequited crush.

It is a mistake Kisuke cannot erase.

Byakuya is a man now, however, and he cannot help but wonder if that fire still burns somewhere. Or has his love for Hisana completely erased a childhood crush?

Kisuke wonders. And that is why he is here today with the Kuchiki heir sitting in front of him, sipping at tea.

He is glad that Tessai, Ururu and Jinta are all busy, that the mod souls are helping to organize the basement. He needs this solitude between them because it is not easy. All he wants is to kiss Byakuya, to chase away the frown lines and the pain in those beautiful stormy eyes. But there is a table between them. A table and one-hundred years that cannot be easily crossed.

There is the young Kuchiki's favorite candy at the table, easy to obtain even for Kisuke, despite the rarity of it. Peppermint… but not the hard candies that children enjoy today. This is soft, melting on the tongue. A subtle flavor that sticks with someone. Kisuke remembers that the young Kuchiki used to eat it as if it were all he needed to survive. That is, when he wasn't being watched by his elders and parents. A small measure of escape for the young heir.

Kisuke fingers the cup in front of him, wrapping his hand around the delicate porcelain and raises it to his lips. He breathes in the aroma, watches as Byakuya eyes the gift with longing, but he doesn't touch. Perhaps that is because it will be as if he is conceding, as if he has forgiven Kisuke for leaving him.

"It is not as if I wanted to," the exile explains in a quiet tone, easily able to recognize the faint twitch in Byakuya's eyes. They have always been the most expressive part of him, even now when he hides behind his mask of indifference for fear of being hurt again.

"And you knew I could not take you with me."

There is a tightening of the Kuchiki heirs shoulders. "You left me alone," he states simply, quite coldly. "The both of you left without a word."

"I know. And I am sorry."

It is true. Even though Kisuke understands what he had to do, he still feels guilt for it. For everything that he left behind, for everything that happened before his disappearance. He feels regret for everything that he left unsaid, including his attraction to the young Byakuya.

Those eyes flicker away from him, again looking at the peppermint with longing. The same longing that Kisuke recognizes from so long ago and wishes could be directed at him once again.

Byakuya does not respond to his statement, and Kisuke feels something inside of himself clench. He does not drink of his tea as he watches and longs himself, wondering how that black hair will feel through his fingers. Wondering how it looks without the foolish Kenseikan, how Byakuya will act without his straight back and damned composure. Without the duties of his family pressing on his shoulders.

"Why did you come, Byakuya?" Kisuke asks softly, wondering if it is foolish for him to hope for something like a happy ending.

The captain has come to see him, after all. He has no other reason to be in Karakura. Rukia is safe and unharmed; there is no immediate threat at present. Byakuya has not been ordered to patrol in the human town. He is here of his own volition, showing up on Kisuke's doorstep and surprising the former captain.

There is a faint clink as Byakuya sets his cup down, one hand reaching elegantly for the plastic bag of peppermints. "Has enough time passed?" Byakuya asks, untying the twist tie and reaching in, drawing out one of the small candies. "Or am I still nothing but a child?" He stares at the small bag as he parts his lips, pressing the peppermint inside.

Kisuke's heart picks up a rhythm. "Only a man would properly understand how to forgive," he counters.

A faint smile twitches at Byakuya's lips as he chances a glance at Kisuke. "Still manipulating even now, onii-san?"

The very fact that Byakuya has not responded violently or scathingly gives Kisuke more hope than he dares know what to do with it. He sets his own cup, watching the Kuchiki heir from across the table. He wants to kiss him, the sound of being called onii-san with the same affectionate tone taking him back more than a century. It makes him warm on the inside, even as his stomach does little flips of happiness.

"Only if you would let me," Kisuke murmurs, gauging the distance across the table.

It is not far, shorter than his own arm and easily able to be crossed. If he leans forward and Byakuya leans forward, their lips could touch. He could curl his fingers in those black strands. It is that easy.

Kisuke wonders if he dares.

One hand, gloved in white like the other, curls around the bag of peppermints. "You should know by now that I have never needed your manipulation," Byakuya answers, swallowing thickly and very nearly sounding the young, uncertain boy he had once been. "All you need do back then was ask."

Licking his lips in anticipation, Kisuke decides to go for it. He has never been one to shy away from a challenge and isn't going to begin now. He lifts a hand, reaching forward slowly and tentatively. When Byakuya doesn't even begin to pull away, just watches and waits, Kisuke knows he has been given permission.

He leans and curls his hand around Byakuya's neck, fingers tickling against soft hair. He gently urges Byakuya to come forward. There is warm breath on his lips smelling faintly of peppermint as the Kuchiki heir responds to his direction. And then, they are kissing, just a faint press of open mouths. But it stirs everything inside of Kisuke. Something he has long considered for a good many years now, finally coming to pass.

Byakuya's lips are soft and smooth, speaking of the great care he must take of his entire body. There is a light scent of cherry blossoms surrounding him, his reiatsu simmering beneath the surface with nervous tension. It would be unnoticeable to anyone but Kisuke, who prides himself on being able to read people. Byakuya has shuttered his eyes, but Kisuke keeps his open, watching the emotions flicker across the other's face. There is no disgust present, nothing but satisfaction and relief. It gives him something else to hope for, that maybe there is something like happy endings, even for men as abject as he.

The kiss ends, probably shorter than either would like, but a century has passed. It is too soon to jump into anything that has just begun. There is a faint smile touching Byakuya's eyes, and Kisuke knows his own lips are curling into one of his ever-present grins. They draw back to their own sides of the table respectively, and Byakuya again reaches for his favorite candies.

"Well," Kisuke says, the first to break the silence. "How about--"

"Kisuke and Byakuya-bo, I always knew it!" A voice interrupts with startling volume and causing both to jump in their seats.

Before either can effectively react, a body is barreling into the room, arms wrapping unapologetically around both of them. They are driven to the floor as Yoruichi's body crashes into the table, creating a fine mess of tea and peppermints and broken wood. But she doesn't stop embracing either, heedless to the fact she is nearly choking them.

"My two favorite men," the rarely dignified princess coos. "How absolutely adorable."

Kisuke and Byakuya sigh in tandem, giving themselves up to the storm that is Yoruichi. The exile doesn't mind too much, however. There will be plenty of time for discussion later. So he relaxes and lets Yoruichi babble, watches Byakuya as he tries to maintain his dignity, even with tea beginning to stain his haori. The blush trying to steal onto his cheeks is adorable, and Kisuke simply smiles.

After all, things have only just begun.

* * *

a/n: After writing this pairing, I kind of liked it. Maybe I'll write more. Heh. We'll have to see. Hope you liked!


	90. Frostbite

**Title: Frostbite**

**Pairings: Ukitake/Hitsugaya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Suggested Yaoi**

**Words: 618**

**Description: He should have known better than to listen to one of Jyuushiro's bright ideas. **

**  
Dedication: For The Sorrowful Vampress, who wanted a UkiHitsu. **

* * *

Toushirou sneezes and scowls all in the same breath. "Why are we out here again?" he demands, hoping his annoyance is clear in his tone. His booted feet crunch over the ground beneath him, grating on his nerves.

"So we can bond!" Ukitake states in a chirpy, far-too-happy tone. It is immediately followed by a curse as he extracts a branch from his hair for the fourth time that afternoon.

The smell of pine and wildlife is everywhere surrounding them. The scent of nature, which clearly denotes their distance from civilization. Toushirou's skin is twitching, certain that there are insects crawling on him, even if he can't see them.

His lover is an idiot; he is sure of it. Whoever said that camping is romantic is a moron, too. And yes, it was Kyouraku who suggested it. Toushirou makes plans to freeze the man's balls the minute they return to Soul Society, even as he delicately avoids a huge snag in their path. He doesn't even know where the hell they are since Jyuushiro planned the whole trip, even going so far as to apply for them to have vacation time together. Damn sneaky bastard.

Ahead of him, Jyuushiro is humming under his breath and practically skipping down the path, mouth spread in childish glee. "Isn't this fun, Shirou-chan?" he asks, oblivious to his lover's discomfort.

"It's the middle of winter," Toushirou responds sourly, staring at all the vegetation.

Which is actually dead. Barring the pine trees and other evergreens, nothing is alive. It's rather creepy. And the air smells of snow as well as pine.

"It's going to get down to freezing tonight," he adds in a tone that is absolutely not sulking. He is too old to pout, after all.

"I know!" Jyuushiro responds brightly, glancing over his shoulder with an almost devilish glint in his eye. "I guess that means we'll have to keep each other warm, hmm?"

Suddenly, the reason for the camping trip in the middle of winter makes a lot more sense, and Hitsugaya wants to smack himself for not realizing it sooner. He should have realized that his boyfriend has ulterior motives. For his kindness, there is a devious side to Jyuushiro that few are privy to.

Toushirou simply sighs and succumbs to his fate. It's not that he doesn't want to be embraced by his lover; Jyuushiro is a damn furnace, after all. He just prefers to be doing so within the comfort of his own home, not on a rocky ground in the middle of nowhere.

Something cold smacks him in the forehead. Toushirou turns his gaze upwards, and immediately flinches as a snowflake nearly lands on his eyeball. As he had suspected, it is now snowing.

"Oh, look!" Jyuushiro states with childish glee. "Snow, Toushirou! Isn't this fun?"

And not a trace of sickness or weakness is in his voice. In fact, he is more energetic than the boy-captain at this point, practically bouncing with each step. Then again, that might have had something to do with the candy Toushirou remembers his lover popping into his mouth every fifty feet or so.

Hefting his pack a bit higher on his shoulders, Toushirou merely nods and prepares himself for the romantic getaway of a lifetime, Kyouraku's words and not his. There is no escaping it now.

He only hopes that they don't get frostbite somewhere along the way. That would certainly put a damper on everything, bringing a whole new meaning to the term "blue balls."

Toushirou shudders at just the thought.

* * *

a/n: This was such a hard pairing to write! But it's cute, so I like it. I hope you do, too. And yeah, a double update this week, too. (It's my apology for having no Minutes to Midnight to offer you yet again!)

Thanks for reading! And especially to all you anonymous reviewers whom I can't directly answer!


	91. Tradition

**Title: Tradition**

**Pairings: Ichigo/Hitsugaya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Implied Yaoi, mentions of a slashy kiss  
**

**Words: 738**

**Description: Some traditions are worth keeping.**

**Dedication: For Animelover143, who wanted a HitsuIchi. And thanks to my sister, who provided the prompt I needed.  
**

* * *

It is one of those smells that anyone can recognize, completely filling a room and taking over. Ichigo breathes in deeply of the familiar flavor as the microwave dings and busies himself with pulling the bag from the machine. He pops it open, careful of the steam, and pours the popcorn into a bowl. In the living room, he can hear his guest grumbling to himself. It amuses him.

Otherwise, the silence of the house greets him. Karin is at a soccer game, and Yuzu is helping Goat-Face with the patients at the clinic. For the next couple of hours, Ichigo has the house to himself, which is a bit unusual. Even Rukia is out, patrolling with Renji.

Ichigo plans on taking full advantage of the situation. It is one of the first opportunities he has to spend time with his boyfriend, doing something other than fighting and hiding from the others. He's even managed to distract Matsumoto-san by sending her to Tatsuki as a project. The pounding he'll receive in return from his friend later will be worth it though; he's sure of it.

With a smirk, Ichigo scoops up the bowl and tucks two cans between his fingers before sauntering into the living room. Toushirou is perched on the couch, frowning faintly at a magazine as he flips through it. His brow is furrowed with familiar scowl marks, and he looks up as Ichigo enters.

"I certainly hope this 'action flick' lives up to my expectations, Kurosaki," Toushirou states, tossing the magazine onto the table.

Ichigo shakes his head. Even after this time, the only time he can get Hitsugaya to call him by his given name is when they are actually being intimate. It seems to amuse the captain to call him Kurosaki in that superior tone.

"You'll like it," Ichigo counters, handing one of the cold cans of soda to Toushirou and setting the snack bowl on the table in front of them.

Blue eyes shift to the dish. "What is this?"

"It's popcorn," he answers simply, plopping down on the couch next to his lover and cracking open the can with a loud and echoing pop. He watches Toushirou for a reaction.

Typically, there is a scowl, the usual response whenever there is something that Toushirou does not recognize and doesn't want to appear too wary of. He tends to get defensive. One hand reaches out, grabbing a handful of the snack and Toushirou tentatively sniffs the buttery corn.

"What for?"

Ichigo rolls his eyes, though he does find that perpetual scowl rather cute. Toushirou wrinkles his nose, pretending to be the stiff, mature adult that he wants to be. Ichigo is aware that Toushirou is a lot older than him, but sometimes, he shows his age in other ways. It's almost adorable, that indignation. And Ichigo can't help but always poke at it, just to see his lover's reaction.

"It's what you're supposed to eat when you watch a movie."

Toushirou eyes him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Cause it's tradition." He picks up the remote and turns on the TV and DVD player, watching as the menu screen for the selected movie begins. "Don't they teach you anything before you come down here?"

The captain snorts. "The important things, Kurosaki. Not ridiculous human customs."

The music from the opening scenes begins to play from the TV. Ichigo scarcely pays attention, instead watching from the corner of his eye as Toushirou tentatively tastes the popcorn. He rolls the flavor inside his mouth, crunching the popped kernels before chewing and swallowing. He mulls over the taste.

"Well?" Ichigo prompts.

There is a moment before Toushirou shrugs and grabs another handful, eyes locked on the screen in interest. "It will suffice," he answers.

Smirking, the substitute Shinigami shakes his head. Nor is he surprised when later, Toushirou eats the whole damn bowl all by himself. Or that his kisses taste like butter and salt, along with a faint hint of the candy that he claims he doesn't like, even if he does.

Because better than the tradition of popcorn during a movie is that of making out just when it gets good. And Ichigo isn't ashamed to say that he takes pride in teaching Toushirou every one of the "ridiculous human customs."

* * *

a/n: This pairing is soooooo hard to write. Probably because it's not one of my favorites and I have a difficult time writing pairings that I don't really support. But the fun is in the challenge! And I had fun writing this! And hallelujah, I finally got another request out. Let's see how long I can keep this up.

Thanks everyone!


	92. In Search of Normality

**Title: In Search of Normality**

**Pairings: Keigo/Uryuu**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Pure Crack**

Words: 717

**Description: Sometimes, he doesn't want the pity. Sometimes, Uryuu just wants the ignorance. **

**Dedication: To Infernum, who wanted a Keigo/Ishida. Mah, I triiiiiied. But this was the best I could do. I hope you like.-Sparkle eyes-**

* * *

He's an idiot. And Uryuu can't really understand the attraction. But here he is anyway, sitting next to Asano Keigo and waiting for the inevitable and not so subtle slide of fingers. They creep across the back of the couch, as though pretending to be ninja-like but failing miserably, as Keigo attempts to "work the moves" on him.

Keigo's words, not his.

The Quincy does a fine job of pretending not to notice, though every instinct wants him to roll his eyes and just finish it himself. But that would be a blow to Keigo's pride, what little of it there is. So he sits and locks his eyes on the movie. Poor acting, poor effects, and even worse music, but what does he care? He didn't pick it out. And he feigns inattention.

Warmth settles across the back of his shoulders, tentative at first, and then becoming a solid weight. Uryuu waits for several planned breaths and then leans in, ever so slightly, practically feeling Keigo's grin sparkle next to him. The other teen is so simple; it takes very little to please him.

They sit in comfortable silence. Keigo laughs at some stupid joke on the TV screen, and Uryuu amuses himself by re-designing his Quincy outfit. Maybe something with a wider collar this time. Or a flare to the leg of his pants. The possibilities are endless. It doesn't bother Uryuu that they don't share the same taste in movies since this is not really about the movie but the time spent together. It is a sacrifice he makes for Keigo, among innumerable others.

The hand around him, from the arm so carelessly slung, begins to stroke gently on his shoulder. Simple little circles or short petting rubs. It is an action that is entirely unconscious. And Uryuu knows that if Keigo ever realizes it, he would likely blush darker than that idiot Abarai's hair, his vocabulary degenerating to mere stutters. Which will, of course, prompt Uryuu to shut him up with a kiss, if only to end the imbecilic stammering.

On second thought, perhaps that is Keigo's intention all along, and he is smarter than Uryuu gives him credit. Or maybe that is just the uncharacteristic hope inside of the Quincy.

He figures that at the rate they're moving it will be next spring by the time Keigo works up the courage for a good grope. Possibly a month sooner if goaded well enough. But that works out just fine for Ishida.

Despite all the odds, he likes that bit of innocence in Keigo. The bit that doesn't really know about the other world and believes that the Shinigami he sees are merely actors in some strange show. Uryuu thinks it is something precious almost, something he should covet for his own, that innocence.

Keigo doesn't know the story of the Quincy, doesn't know what they've suffered. He isn't aware of the burden that Uryuu carries, and in some ways, Uryuu prefers it that way. He doesn't want the pity or the sympathy or the understanding. He wants the ignorance to make him feel just this side of normal. And Keigo, for all his odd behavior and outlandish responses to just about anything, is about as normal as normal gets for Karakura.

A gentle tug brings him closer to Keigo, and for the sake of it, Uryuu lets himself scoot a hairsbreadth closer. Near enough to share body heat on this small couch. It's such a normal teenager action, and he revels in it. He finds his lips twitching into something close to a smile but just barely.

No need to get ahead of himself. Not just yet.

* * *

AN: The authoress would like to express just how difficult this pairing is to write. She thought that Ulquiorra – as a character – was hard. She was so very wrong. :)

In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this strange foray into another odd pairing from yours truly. Lots more to come!


	93. Twilight Affair

**Title: Twilight Affair**

**Pairings: Kisuke/Izuru**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Mild Yaoi**

**Words: 826**

**Description: He's pretty happy right now, Izuru thinks, and that's all that really matters.**

**Dedication: For Infernum, who wanted a Urahara/Kira. I hope you like!  
**

* * *

Izuru thinks it is because they are so different and yet so similar all the same. It's something he can't really explain if someone were to ask him. But he can see it. He can taste and feel it.

It might be why he's fallen for a man like Urahara Kisuke, exiled from Soul Society, with hidden motives that no one really knows. He loves the feeling of Kisuke's fingers on his skin, always soft and gentle, meticulous. They seem to know without asking what he likes and what he wants, bringing him nothing but pleasure.

The gleam in those gray-green eyes once they are finally revealed from their usual shadows are simply entrancing. It is one of Izuru's habits to cup Kisuke's face with his hands, brushing back that pale blond hair and kissing his lover. He likes to think that Kisuke enjoys that gentleness. He certainly smiles every time, murmuring something that Izuru never really understands but loves to hear anyway.

He thinks that Kisuke is brilliant because the man really is. He can create anything, and he is literally brimming with ideas. They lay together at night, Izuru's head on the man's chest, and he simply listens to him talk. Kisuke will go into detail, will explain each and every invention. Izuru rarely understands, but he knows eventually they will come into being. All he has to do is wait.

He likes how Kisuke can be both serious and playful, knowing when each part of himself suits the situation. He finds it amusing how much Kisuke teases Kurosaki-kun, but he also knows how deeply his lover cares for the substitute Shinigami. Kurosaki-kun is like a son to Kisuke, and deep inside, Izuru realizes that a part of Kisuke feels guilty for what he has forced upon the boy, for the path he's set Kurosaki-kun on.

There is a sense of honor in Kisuke, one that doesn't immediately show. He has been exiled from his home, sent away from family and friends, and yet, he still answers Yamamoto-soutaichou, still helps the Shinigami. He is still there when Soul Society needs him, and Izuru finds that admirable.

But there is also a deep sadness in Kisuke, and Izuru isn't sure why. It is some secret that his lover is hiding from him, so deep that Izuru is a bit afraid to find out. It is something so seeded that he fears he won't be able to pull out the roots on his own. He is waiting for Kisuke to tell himself because the hurt is obviously old and still painful.

Izuru wants to be the one who can heal that pain, so he waits… he waits until Kisuke is ready. Until then, he soothes over the hurting memories with gentle kisses and big smiles. Kisuke has always said that he loves Izuru-chan's smiling face the most, to see happiness reflected in big blue eyes.

They don't have a lot of time to spend together, being that Kisuke has to stay in Karakura and Izuru's duties in Soul Society require a great deal of his attention. It is somewhat distressing to the both of them, so the moments they do have are cherished.

There is nothing that lifts Izuru's spirits more than the sound of familiar geta clacking against polished floors or the sight of a ridiculous green and white striped hat. He's tried to get Kisuke to switch to something a bit more fashionable, but the look in his lover's eyes at the time instantly made him change his mind. It means more than just a hat… that much Izuru can see.

It's easy for Izuru to forget about the war and the traitors when he's with Kisuke, easy to forget that he has been betrayed by the captain he looked up to. By the captain he might have had more than just a little crush on.

With Kisuke's arms around him, he feels stronger, and it becomes easier to let go. He realizes that his obsession might have been unhealthy, that he had somehow lost himself in Ichimaru's presence along the way. But now, bit by bit, he is finding what it means to be Kira Izuru again.

He has Kisuke to thank for that, Kisuke who refused to even accept him until he found his own strength. It had seemed so harsh then to Izuru, who had put all his courage into the confession only to be turned away. But he understands now why Kisuke had done that, and he's grateful for it.

It's opened the way for them to be together, and he enjoys that the most. It's freeing to have distanced himself from his fixation on Ichimaru-taichou, to move on from that time in his life.

He can't help but wonder if there's any way he could be happier.

And then, he thinks that it doesn't really matter because he's pretty damn happy right now, and that's really all he wants.

a/n: Another pairing I may explore in more depth later. There is something intriguing about the two of them together. So maybe you'll see more. Hope you liked another odd pairing from me.

A note, if you see me disappear for the next month or so, or find erratic updates, do not be surprised. NaNoWriMo starts on the 1st of November and as I am taking part in it, I'll have little time for anything else. I will return full force December 1st, however. I'll try to update when I can. Thanks!


	94. The Thin, Red Line

**Title: The Thin Red Line**

**Characters: Grimmjow, Ichigo (could be seen as pairing)**

**Rating: T (for mentions of bloody violence and language)**

**Warning: SPOILER ALERT! Don't read if you're not past chapter 280 or episode 190.**

**Words: 1637**

**Description: ****Companion to **_**Quiet Destruction.**_** The last thoughts of a dying Espada, Grimmjow contemplates hate and the lack thereof. **

* * *

_Plip. _

_Plip_.

It is the sound of his own blood, dripping from his body and to the ground. It falls at the same cadence as the slowing beat of his heart. It's the same rhythm that guides the fluttering of his eyelashes and the final twitches of his muscles.

There is no wind here, so nothing stirs around him. He can feel the dust and grit against his bare back, caking into wounds left behind by Zangetsu. He can still feel their burn, the slice of the cold metal into his skin, grinding against his body. He can still see those brown eyes, momentarily tainted by the gold of a Hollow and then returned to brown again. Human brown, to go with those all too human emotions. The same emotions he seems to feel, too.

He hates him; Grimmjow is certain of this. He hates everything that Kurosaki is, everything that Kurosaki stands for. He hates his strength and his personality. He hates his ideals and his stupid sword and his bright orange hair. But most of all, he hates his words. After all, Grimmjow knows they hold some truth. And that, he cannot stand.

He hears the clashing of swords somewhere past his ears, but even that is slowly fading. He can see the bright blue of Aizen's artificial sky. So fake and covering the endless black that is the truth of Hueco Mundo. He honestly doesn't know which he prefers. On the edge of his vision, he sees dust billowing into the air. He sees the remaining bits of crumbled towers.

He blinks, and the image is still burned on the back of his lids. Fluttering black cloth.

_Plip. _

_Plip_.

The cadence of Kurosaki's own blood dripping onto his chest as he, just a boy really, defends Grimmjow from his own allies attack. Defends his _enemy_. Foolish.

He really hates that.

He wonders if this is death approaching him. He can't tell if the coldness in his extremities is the chill of deathly fingers or if he's just imagining things. He's always been cold but not quite like that bastard Ulquiorra.

Kurosaki's voice rises loud somewhere nearby, and Grimmjow still can't move.

"_Don't touch her!" _

Nnoitra's even more annoying tone follows, mocking and taunting. Goading the kid into fighting him.

Bastard. Grimmjow hates him, too.

He tries to make his finger move, but it won't obey his commands. Warmth is seeping across his chest, puddling over to the side. He feels like he's lying in a pool of wet and sticky liquid. He can't really breathe that well either, each intake a wet and raspy sound. Ragged. He really does think he's dying.

He could have won, Grimmjow thinks. If he had been just a little stronger. If he had pushed himself to that level. If he'd had a reason.

He thinks that it is pathetic. Kurosaki's strength comes from nowhere. It springs from nothing. He's just a scrawny brat. A human. A Shinigami. A Vizard. He's just this _kid_, who thinks he's better because he fights for something. Because his battles mean something.

And he pities Grimmjow.

Grimmjow hates that. That pity. It means that Kurosaki sees him as something – someone if he even is a someone – weak. Pitiable. Worthy of sympathy and nothing else. It is charity when he makes that offer, which is why Grimmjow rebels. He's humoring Grimmjow.

"_Come at me anytime you want_," Kurosaki was saying to him in not so many words. "_I'll defeat you every time, but if you hate me so much, I'll let you fight me every time._"

And why not? Grimmjow is a creature to be pitied, yes? What has he to live for in this existence of his? Let him have his one desire. Drown himself in his lust for battle.

It's pathetic. He wants to take that sympathy and strangle Kurosaki with it. Wants to take the pity he sees in brown eyes and claw them out. He hates the feeling that look evokes in him, the warmth that surges through his chest and the momentary helpless feeling it gives him.

Grimmjow doesn't want to name it, that clawing emptiness inside of him. The one he tries to fill with all matter of lusts – battle, food, alcohol, sex. Battle. Fight, fight, fight, and blood. He knows it has a name, but he ignores it. Pretends it doesn't exist.

"_Loneliness_," those brown eyes tell him. "_They call it loneliness, Grimmjow._"

Fuck, he's even hallucinating. The final minutes of his existence… and he's hallucinating, hearing voices. And worse, it's that brat. Kurosaki. He really hates that kid.

He has clawed his way to the top, or as near as he could reach with his power. He's stomped on whatever he needed, used whatever he needed to make it there. He's made no promises; he's bound himself to no one. Save Aizen. And that has been in name only. He admits only to himself that Aizen's power terrifies him. But that doesn't stop him from loathing the former Shinigami, from wanting to tear out his throat with his teeth. Taste his blood. Grimmjow is sure that it's sweet.

_Plip. _

_Plip._

Time stretches longer between each drop. He can't turn his head to see the source of the shaking ground even if he wants to. Kurosaki's voice within his mind and within earshot has fallen silent. He can hear that big-chested chick crying. Nnoitra laughing. He wonders if Kurosaki's dead and hates the feeling that thought produces.

Grimmjow doesn't know why he attached his obsession to the teen in the first place. From the moment he first faced off against those eyes, it became a desire to see them fall. They are so defiant and determined. Even when it is obvious that stubborn will alone won't win the battle for him. And against all odds, he comes back, stronger than before. Even more determined. It bugs the shit out of him.

The last battle… that last blow, Grimmjow remembers letting it come. Remembers hearing the words Kurosaki spat at him, about saving his friends. Remembers watching that black blade aiming for his chest and remembers not even bothering to block it. Not even attempting to try.

Whether it would have been futile or not hadn't even been an issue. He was defeated before the blade even touched his flesh. He had known in that moment he could rend Kurosaki limb from limb, and the brat would still find some way to stand up. To fight again. To get even stronger. And he was powerless against that determination.

"_What's the point of it all?_"

His eyes had been so earnest, so pleading. Filled with pity and wishing that Grimmjow would just end it. Stop trying to fight. Stop throwing his existence away on something that meant nothing.

Grimmjow really hates that about Ichigo.

Heavy reiatsu is pouring over the battlefield. It's suffocating, making his limbs want to curl together. His heart feels like it's squeezing in his chest, and he's almost reminded of Aizen in that moment. Except this reiatsu is only a quarter, maybe even less, of that painful press that had squeezed his very veins.

Another battle is about to begin.

He uses every last vestige of his strength and turns his head. His vision is blurry, darkening on the edges. But even so, he can make out a head of bright orange hair lying against the stark white of the sand.

_Plip. _

_Plip. _

He thinks that the cadence isn't just his own blood anymore. And Kurosaki is down, felled by Nnoitra most likely. That bastard. Grimmjow hates him, too. More than he had despised Luppi and just a bit less than he loathes Ulquiorra.

"_You actually lost, and now, you're letting your enemy protect you?" _

Che. As if he could have gotten up to stop him. Can't stop that brat when he's made up his mind. Saving his friends. Rescuing the girl. Defeating the Espada.

His vision is getting blacker around the edges. He wants to fight Kurosaki one more time. Feels his fingers twitch just once, two inches away from his blade. He wants to test his strength, test his own beliefs against Kurosaki's.

"_What's the point of it all, Grimmjow?" _

Damn, those voices.

The point? What is the point?

To be stronger, of course. To be the king, to stand above everyone and everything. For his existence to have a meaning. The only thing that ever mattered in Hueco Mundo was strength, and Grimmjow wants it. All of it. It's all he needs.

He really hates that kid, making him think things like this right before he dies. He hates everything about him. His voice and his words and his clothes and his sword. He hates his eyes, those damn sympathetic and understanding eyes. Lonely eyes, even when surrounded by his friends. Even when she stands on the side, crying for fear of his death. Damned lonely eyes.

Grimmjow hates that they may be more alike than he wants to admit. That he sees Ichigo in himself and himself in Ichigo. That maybe in the end, what he really hates is that reflection. What he really despises and loathes and wants to destroy... is himself.

One more shuddering breath, wet and ripe with the taste of copper, and he wonders if Ichigo is going to live. No, he doesn't wonder. He's pretty damn sure of it. Something always comes out right for the brat.

For some reason, the idea of that doesn't bother him too much.

His eyes are open, but he sees nothing but black now. Faint shadows of grey on the edges but black all the same. His memory recalls brown eyes, completely without his permission. And a sad smile, fresh with loneliness.

Or maybe that's just his own reflection.

----------------------------------------------

a/n: For some reason, this pairing has grabbed hold of me and refused to let go, despite my initial disinterest in it. There's a third in this series, soon to come, which attacked me one day and I had to quickly jot down.

I tore myself away from my NaNoWriMo fic to post this for you. I'm at 10,528 words! Huzzah!

I hope you enjoyed. And reviews would definitely feed my muses!


	95. Damage Report

**Title: Damage Report**

**Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, Shunsui, Unohana, Kira Izuru, Others**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Crackish**

**Words: 1567**

**Description: The aftermath of Ukitake's fury. Sequel to **_**Mad Season**_**. **

* * *

Jyuushiro awoke groggily, feeling as if a dozen cackling Espada were dancing on his head. He groaned, struggling to peel his eyes opened. On the edge of his conscious, he heard a chuckle.

"Well, looks like lover-boy's finally coming around."

"I'll let Unohana-taichou know," another voice inserted. There was the patter of feet, a sliding of door, and then, only one person remained.

Jyuushiro recognized the reiatsu in an instant. "Shun... sui?" he croaked.

A hand grasped his, fingers squeezing gently. "Hai, Jyuu-chan. I'm here."

Forcing his eyelids to raise, Jyuushiro peered into the outrageous brightness, finally seeing the form of his friend beside him. "I feel dead," he said, much to Shunsui's amusement.

"You should." There was a pause. "Eh... sorry about the hilt to the forehead there, Jyuu-chan, but it was necessary. Retsu-chan says the mark should go away soon."

Jyuushiro reached up with an unsteady hand and felt the knot on his head. He winced, realizing it was the reason for his pain.

"It's okay. I understand," he assured his best friend.

The day before began to filter back to him in startling clarity. Apparently, he had lost his mind again. Not that it happened often. But enough that Shunsui and Genryuusai-sensei had created the proper countermeasures.

He groaned again and closed his eyes, laying his head back against the pillow. "How was it?" Jyuushiro asked with evident dread, hand scooting down to cover his face.

There was a pause. "I'm not going to lie to you, lover-boy. It was bad."

Giggling seemed to punctuate his friend's point. Peering through his fingers, he caught sight of a bevy of female Shinigami passing his room. They paused, peeked inside his room and then kept on going, giggling and whispering amongst themselves. He could only imagine the topic of their conversation.

Jyuushiro groaned again.

"Look on the bright side, Jyuu-chan," Shunsui stated cheerily, reaching for one of the apples in the fruit basket at his bedside table and biting deeply into it. "I did manage to stop you before you continued your tirade on the nobles and Chamber 46."

"Small favor," he muttered. "Just tell me straight, Shun. What happened?"

Chuckling, the eighth division captain leaned back in his chair. "Well, Kiyone and Sentarou haven't spoken a word since they rushed to me and informed me that you were a little... perturbed. I think they've been hiding in the thirteenth division for their own safety."

Jyuushiro felt a sinking feeling in his stomach but gestured with his free hand anyways. "Continue," he asked, not that Shunsui needed any encouragement.

"Sure." There was a crunch as he bit into the apple again, the sweet smell filling the room. "Whatever you said to Nanao-chan, thanks. It's really opened her eyes. But whatever else you said to the vice-captains instituted a brawl at their weekly meeting. I'm sad to say that Yachiru was the winner. But don't worry; your boy-toy made it out completely unscathed."

Blinking, he peered at his best friend. "Boy-toy?"

Shunsui grinned. "By the way, you and Hisagi-kun have a date for next Friday."

A cute, scarlet flush spread across Jyuushiro's cheeks. "That's... good?"

"You bet it is, lover-boy," Shunsui answered, gesturing towards him with the apple. "Soifon's been walking around with this twisted scowl on her face. I think she calls it a smile, but no one believes her. And Kurotsuchi's had a mysterious and oh-so-tragic near-fatal accident. Not that anyone really cares."

He shrugged, taking off his hat with his free hand and waving air to his face. "But really, Jyuu-chan, how does a person poison himself with mercury?"

"I can't even imagine." His answer was muffled behind the mask of his hand.

Laying the hat on the side table next to him, Shunsui continued without prompt. "Renji-kun is in the next room over. Apparently, Hinamori-chan did quite a number on him. As well as the rest of them until Yachiru stepped in."

"Please tell me that's all," Jyuushiro inserted, tone taking on a hint of begging. Really, he didn't think he could get any more mortified than he already was.

Shunsui shook his head. "I wish. But I still haven't told you what happened in the captain's meeting. Byakuya-hime and Shirou-chan nearly called out their bankai thanks to the disagreement you sparked between them." He crunched into the apple again. "But don't worry; at least Sajin-kun still likes you."

The captain of the thirteenth division felt a migraine coming on, which had nothing to do with the impression of Shunsui's zanpakutou still in his forehead.

"Not to mention, Iba-kun hasn't seen straight since yesterday, which might have something to do with the fact he keeps squinting. Apparently, he hasn't not worn his sunglasses for quite a few years."

He paused, tricking Jyuushiro into thinking that was all.

"By the way," Shunsui thought fit to add. "You made Orihime-chan cry. Not very nice of you, Jyuu-chan. And--"

"I think, Kyouraku-taichou, that my patient is still recovering," a sweet voice, not unlike that of an angel, suddenly filled the room.

Jyuushiro breathed a sigh of relief.

"Please refrain from saying anything that would stress him further."

Shunsui's grin widened. "Retsu-chan!" he greeted.

Jyuushiro lowered his hand at the sight of the serene woman and gave her a thin and wan smile. "Thank you, senpai. I'm sorry to trouble you." He paused, only to amend himself. "And... I'm sorry for whatever I might have said to you."

She inclined her head towards him and paused at his bedside to give him an once-over. "It is no trouble at all, Ukitake-taichou. But perhaps you might consider a better outlet for your frustrations. Letting it build up and explode once every five centuries is not good for your health."

His blush deepened at the chastisement. "I will keep that in mind."

"Good." Her eyes roamed over him as she carefully checked his vitals. "Well, you appear to be in fine health now, all things considered. But I still recommend some rest. Do you feel up to a visitor?"

Jyuushiro smiled lightly. "Doesn't Shunsui count?"

"Kyouraku-taichou has always been the exception," she countered pleasantly, the two of them sharing a knowing chuckle.

"Let them in!" Shunsui announced, as though jealous he had been left out of the joke. "Jyuu-chan could use the visitors."

Patting him on the shoulder, Unohana turned away from the hospital bed. "You're free to go as you wish," she told him and headed for the door. "And remember what I said."

"I'll do that," he called after her. Jyuushiro breathed another sigh of relief.

Shunsui nudged him with a finger, poking him in the shoulder. "You got off easy this time, lover-boy."

"I know it."

"Excuse me, taichou?"

The two captains turned their attention to the doorway, where a blond wearing a shihakushou stood, hands dangling at his sides. He looked somewhat familiar, and it wasn't until Jyuushiro spotted the vice-captain's badge around the right forearm and the familiar symbol that he recognized the man.

Kira Izuru of the third division.

He had cut his hair, making his lovely blue eyes visible for once. The effect was startling, softening his appearance.

"Kira-kun?" Jyuushiro said in surprise, wondering what on Seireitei managed to convince him to shear the long locks.

He nodded and then bowed deeply. "Thank you, Ukitake-taichou, for your wonderful advice," he said honestly. "It was most helpful."

And then, he was gone, the smile barely present on his lips a rare but rather beautiful sight to see. Jyuushiro had nearly forgotten just how pretty Kira-kun could be when his face wasn't hidden by that horrible hair style.

Shunsui chuckled. "One of the more positive outcomes of your rampage," he explained with a gesture towards the now empty doorway. He flicked his eyes towards his best friend. "By the way, Jyuu-chan, exactly how long has it been since you got laid?"

The other man absolutely froze. Had he actually said something to that effect?

His mortification increased tenfold.

His best friend continued without prompting, clearly having his fun, "You know you could have just asked," Shunsui added, patting him on the shoulder. "I would have taken one for the team."

Jyuushiro narrowed his eyes. "You know, Shunsui," he began slowly, beginning to remember his anger with his best friend. "You're half the cause of yesterday."

"A... Am I?" Shunsui asked with a suddenly nervous laugh, gaze darting around. "Now, why would you say such a mean thing, Jyuu-chan?"

His anxious sight caught a glimpse of two forms moving past the doorway. "Oh, look!" Shunsui suddenly declared, jerking to his feet. "There's Sajin and Sado-kun! I'll just go say hello. Be back soon, Jyuu-chan."

He was out the door in seconds, leaving behind only the faint impression of a pink flutter.

Disappointed that he couldn't see his revenge and that he had been left alone in the fourth division, Jyuushiro settled back in the bed. Perhaps he would get some rest after all.

But really, he hadn't seen anyone pass by the door, even though he'd been staring right at it.

-----

a/n: I'm baaaaaack. Starting next week, I'll return to my regularly scheduled posting. I finished my NaNoWriMo novel at 65851 words around the 20th. If anyone is interested in seeing the fruits of my labor, lemme know and I'll gladly post a link for you.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed the drabble! I still have much, much more to come. Thanks!


	96. My Pace

**Title: My Pace**

**Pairings: Byakuya/Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Implied Yaoi**

**Words: 976**

**Description: Byakuya wasn't the best at comforting, but that did not mean he didn't try. Part of the "Never Been Kissed" series, parallel to "Of Understanding." **

* * *

He was not a man skilled in comforting. Byakuya didn't know how to soothe those inner aches and pains of those close to him. He could barely understand his own emotions, couldn't even begin to handle his own aching heart. When faced with someone else's pain, Byakuya drew a complete blank. Maybe that was why he never could communicate with Hisana. Perhaps that was why he had been unable to help Rukia after Kaien's death.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Then, he met Ichigo.

Byakuya wanted to believe that his lover was a man capable of taking care of himself, that he didn't need silly things like comfort. That Ichigo understood just how much of a social and emotional failure his lover was and didn't expect anything. And that was probably true. Ichigo didn't really expect anything from him. Byakuya expected it from himself.

There were times when he knew without even having to ask that Ichigo was hurting. He drew away, became quiet, lost some of his bluster. He sought solitude and even brushed off attempts by his friends to talk. He didn't train, he didn't practice. He just sat and thought.

He didn't understand why Ichigo did that at first. Byakuya even considered it a personal affront, that perhaps it was him Ichigo was growing tired of. That the boy couldn't think of a way to end it. But slowly, the realization dawned on him that this was an old pain haunting his lover, not something that could readily be healed.

Ichigo had told him once about the Hollow that had taken his mother's life. About his own inability to destroy Grand Fisher. He hadn't said it, but Byakuya had received the distinct impression that he still considered it his own fault, even if everyone told him otherwise. Byakuya could only recognize it because he held some of the same feelings himself for his own regrets.

Thoughts of his mother usually brought about the distance, brought about the sudden need to be alone. It would come, and it would pass. And when Ichigo returned, Byakuya was there, keeping normalcy. It was the best he could offer. If his kisses were a little gentler that night or his touch a bit softer, neither noticed. It might have even been unconscious.

And then, there were the scars.

Byakuya himself had very few, most of them from recent battles and from Ichigo himself. He hadn't been a captain very long before he had met Ichigo, and even then, he hadn't been in a position where he would have had to fight a difficult enemy. Hollows were never strong enough to get a single strike against him, and he was a Kuchiki, he didn't go on routine patrols.

But Ichigo had many scars. Byakuya had traced them with his fingers, had followed their path with his eyes. Had even measured the length and breadth of some with his tongue. Each was a testament to a battle his lover had survived, a battle in which Ichigo had proved victorious.

All except one.

Neither of them spoke about that particular scar, a bare impression of injury against Ichigo's darker skin. Neither spoke of what it represented. Byakuya already knew that Ichigo had vowed to never face such a loss again. Even if Aizen's strength was ten times his own, Ichigo was determined to defeat him.

Byakuya believed sometimes that everyone conveniently forgot just how human Ichigo was. That though he could pull a miracle from thin air, prove victorious against improbable odds, to make the impossible possible, he was still just a boy. One suddenly thrust into the life of a Shinigami. Even Byakuya himself was guilty of forgetting.

He couldn't help but wonder how Ichigo coped with everything. All of the blood he had lost, the wounds he had suffered, the pain he had endured. The sudden and abrupt change from normal teenager to Shinigami to Vizard to a hero who everyone depended upon without even asking if he wanted it in the first place.

The answer always came to him at night, the heavy hours before morning and not long after midnight.

There were times when Ichigo had nightmares, ones that were vivid enough to cause him to break into a cold sweat and shake. Byakuya always woke when the first broken noise pierced the quiet and had quickly learned just what had produced the pained murmur. He would reach over, laying his hand gently against Ichigo's bare shoulder. Sometimes, his touch was enough to soothe Ichigo back into quiet sleep. Other times, Byakuya was forced to wake his lover, just to end whatever haunted his night.

The look in those brown eyes, once so young and lacking knowledge, never ceased to put a chill on Byakuya's heart. They were eyes far too old for someone Ichigo's age, eyes that were far too distressed for a teenager. One who should have had no bigger worries than which occupation he wished to follow or which university would better suit him.

Ichigo never talked about whatever pains he held inside, and Byakuya never goaded him to speak. He knew that with all things, Ichigo would do this his own way and in his own time. At some point, Byakuya knew that his lover would come to him. And then, it would all come pouring out, everything that made him ache, everything that troubled his sleep.

Byakuya wasn't the best at comforting; he didn't have the right words or the right reactions. He didn't know how to deflect worries or make false but hopeful assurances. But he supposed that really didn't matter since it wasn't what Ichigo wanted or needed in the first place.

Just simply being there was enough. And that, Byakuya could do.

-----

a/n: I have emerged from NaNoWriMo victorious! Huzzah! If anyone's interested, the link to the story I created is available in my profile. And now, it's back to our regularly scheduled writing!

I hope you all enjoyed this piece! It happens to be one of my favorites. Thanks for reading and thanks for all your patience!


	97. Rukia's Dating Service Shuuhei

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Shuuhei**

**Characters: Ichigo, Shuuhei**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: None**

**Words: 507**

**Description: Ichigo began to think that Rukia was getting desperate. **

* * *

Ichigo inclined his head, rubbing his hands over his bent knees. "So..."

In front of him, Shuuhei drummed his fingers on the table top, fingernails clacking against the wood veneer. "So..."

Rolling his eyes to the side in an attempt to find conversation, Ichigo grasped at something. Anything, honestly.

"Umm... so how long have you been a vice-captain?"

"Awhile," came the honest and quick response.

"I see."

Silence descended once more.

It was quickly becoming awkward. Or to be more precise, it already _was _awkward. Now, it was just getting embarrassing.

Ichigo stared at the other man, whom he had met maybe twice in his entire life. He'd done well enough to remember the tattooed Shinigami's name, much less be able to come up with some sort of interesting conversation.

He wasn't supposed to in the first place anyway. He had been led to believe that this particular outing was going to include others as well, most notedly Renji and Ikkaku and the rest of the "thugs." Apparently, Shuuhei had been led to believe that as well. His eyes kept glancing towards the door, and the both of them straightened every time they caught a glimpse of someone coming inside.

It wasn't that Shuuhei wasn't attractive or intelligent because the vice-captain contained a fair share of both. But Ichigo just didn't think they had anything in common. Nor did he really know the other man well enough.

"Uh..."

"Um."

They simply drew an utter blank at communication.

"I wonder where the others are?" Shuuhei posed out loud, fingers picking up a faster rhythm against the table top.

Tap. Tap. Taptap. Tap.

Ichigo's brow furrowed. "Yeah."

Inwardly, however, he was cursing Rukia. He hoped the chill that shot up her back froze her solid. She and her _bright_ ideas.

Two more people came through the doors, and they were not their friends. Ichigo's suspicions blossomed into full on belief. They had been set up.

"No offense," Shuuhei began, the tapping abruptly ceasing as he leaned forward, catching Ichigo's eyes. "But we should just go home."

Ichigo nodded. "None taken," he answered, already rising to his feet and contemplating the consequences of injuring a Kuchiki princess. "It's a good idea."

The vice-captain stood, sliding his chair back into place as Ichigo peeled some money out of his wallet and left it on the table for the drinks they had consumed.

"I'm sorry this didn't work out," Shuuhei said as they headed for the door, ever the considerate one.

Ichigo shrugged. "It's fine. I know who to blame."

A certain something sparkled in the tattooed man's eyes, a vein ticking on his forehead that seemed to perfectly align with Ichigo's own irritation. It seemed they both had trickster friends.

"As do I," Shuuhei muttered under his breath.

And Ichigo couldn't help but smirk. Maybe they had something in common, after all.

-----

a/n: Yeah, it's a bit shorter than the other ones. But I still find it amusing nonetheless. The awkwardness, it's so amusing. I hope you liked!


	98. His Hands

**Title: His Hands**

**Pairings: Chad/Ishida**

**Rated: T**

**Warnings: Shameless, shameless fluffy shounen-ai**

**Words: 530**

**Description: It is Sado's hands that define him, that show in an instant just what kind of man he is.**

* * *

It's his hands that Uryuu likes the most. They are large and thick, calloused. Nearly the size of Uryuu's head and definitely stronger.

But they have the capacity for the most gentleness, the most kindness. Those same hands have cradled kittens, have attempted to knit sweaters… with limited success, and have carried Uryuu when he was injured and broken.

They can be soft as they settle on his hair, fingers stroking through the dark strands. But they can be fierce when protecting, when smashing through walls or enemies. When fighting for that which matters most.

He finds it intriguing, the division of Sado's hands. How one carries the will to defend himself, forming a shield. How the other carries the power to attack, to defeat his foes in one impressive strike. It is true that they are interchangeable, that one can block, even if it was meant to attack and vice versa. But their original purpose remains the same. And Uryuu cannot help but be intrigued by this phenomenon.

He compares Sado's hands to his own. His which are pale and delicate, an artist's hands. Long and elegant. Slender. Meant for fine work like sewing or drawing a perfect arrow from his bow. Meant for teasing traces across browned skin, watching chills rise up in their wake.

He likes Sado's hands much more than his own.

Except for when Sado takes his fingers and holds them to his lips, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to each calloused pad. The spark that sends through him is worth every moment.

To be honest, there are other things about Sado he likes. His silence for one. His ability to be quiet when it matters. Or to speak when something needs be said. His dependability, how he always seems to be there without Uryuu asking. He admires Sado's loyalty and his strength, his courage. He likes his understanding, how Sado always seems to know without having to ask just what Uryuu is thinking.

He even likes the way he tries to learn Uryuu's craft, even though he is no good at it. Or how his one attempt at cooking something turns out worse than any strange concoction Inoue-san has ever made. He likes the way Sado's hair falls into his eyes. And that when he gets embarrassed, he hides behind the shaggy strands.

Uryuu likes all those things and many more. It would take him a day or so to name each and every thing.

However, he thinks that it is Sado's hands that define him, that show in an instant just what kind of man he is. It's his hands that show his loyalty and strength and determination and love.

So when he takes one of those large hands into his and presses a kiss to Sado's palm, the other male simply looks at him and smiles.

Understanding without even needing to ask.

* * *

AN: I have no excuse for such fluff. None at all. This pair is just so squishy. I love it.

Hope you liked it, too. Keep an eye out for your requests! I've been working on them! And check out the list of future chapters to see what's coming. Thanks everyone!


	99. Punked

**Title: Punked**

**Characters: Renji, Hitsugaya, Matsumoto, others**

**Rating: T (for language)**

**Warning: Rampant OOC, some mild cross-dressing, and questionable humor**

**Words: 2081**

**Description: Companion to **_**Motivation for Murder**_**. Someone was out to get Renji, and he hadn't a clue why. **

**Dedication: For Kuromei, who wanted to see Renji getting pranked, preferably by Hitsugaya. **

* * *

Abarai Renji was getting paranoid.

He was absolutely certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone was out to get him.

He didn't know why. Or what he had done. Or even who it was. Hell, he didn't even know _how_ they planned on – ahem – getting him. But sure enough, someone had it out for him. He could feel the chills up his spine, the eyes watching him from a distance. And he wasn't lucky like Hisagi-senpai. They weren't just admiring stalkers.

Oh, no.

These eyes were examining him, just waiting for the moment to strike.

They started with his hair.

Sometime last week he had woken up with bubblegum… _**bubblegum**_ stuck to the dead center of his beautiful locks. Now, Renji was quite proud of his hair. Very few people could claim to have hair of the same color naturally, and it was a length to be envied. It fit his personality; it fit his persona. It _was_ him.

It figured that the one out to get him would strike at his pride and joy. To make matters worse, he'd tried to get it out himself and only succeeded in pulling out a good bit of his precious strands. And then someone, Tetsuzaemon, had the brilliant idea of using peanut butter. The bastard had claimed he had read it somewhere. Renji knew he should have been suspicious when Tetsuzaemon admitted to touching a book.

To be honest, it _might_ have worked, if there hadn't been a subsequent Hollow attack immediately following Renji's application of the crunchy, sticky stuff. And of course, his division had been summoned. And by kami, Kuchiki-taichou couldn't be bothered to take his squad out. Just had left it to the stray dog.

By the time Renji got back to the division and by proxy the showers, the peanut butter had dried into a worse mess than the gum. And he had a wonderful collection of flies and bees.

It had taken much groveling at Yumichika's feet for the fluttery fifth-seat to give him the help he needed. Immediately afterwards, hair shortened by a good inch or so, Renji pummeled Tetsuzaemon into next year.

Still, that didn't solve who started it with the gum in the first place.

The incidents had only degenerated from there.

His paperwork had disappeared off his desk, only to reappear in the men's toilet. He didn't know how that had happened or how no one else in his division had noticed someone slipping out with piles and piles of unsigned documents.

Then again, who really paid attention to someone coming _in_ with piles and piles of parchment?

He had spent a full day last week wandering around with lollipops stuck to his ass. Someone had attached them to his hakama when he wasn't looking, and none of his dear and faithful friends could be bothered to let him know about them. It hadn't been until he sat down for his evening meal that he heard the subsequent crunch and crack.

It had taken him hours of scrubbing to get all the sticky bits off.

The fourth incident had involved a whole array of gooey, squelchy liquid that clung to the bottom of his waraji and consequently everything that he stepped on. He had left little prints of sweet, sticky candy behind him, like a bright green trail for others to follow. Complete with sugar ants. How the trickster had gotten hold of his waraji and done something like that, Renji wouldn't ever know.

After being forced to spend more than five hours on his hands and knees to scrape off his footprints because Kuchiki-sama-taichou couldn't abide by the candy marks, Renji was pretty much certain someone was out to get him.

He began a quest to discover the perpetrator.

At first, he tried all the usual suspects. But it was far too subtle for Tetsuzaemon, who preferred dumping extra salt into his food or switching out his drinks when they were at the bar. Ikkaku would rather preserve his candy for bargaining with Yachiru than waste it on pranking his friend. And something as silly as buffoonery was beneath Yumichika. Nor would Izuru do it either.

That left him with little options and no leads to go on.

Disappointed and defeated, Renji eventually found himself at one of his favorite bars, trying to console himself with a hearty drink or two. He made sure to check his waraji and hakama first, however, and was relieved to find that both were free of all sugary substances. Come to think of it, a week had passed since the last incident.

He had to be extra careful then. It was about time for the unknown perpetrator to strike. Once Renji found the bastard, he was going to give him a good wallop for sure. Just as soon as he found him.

"Gimme one, too," a female voice demanded as a body slid into the seat next to him. A thumb jabbed his direction. "Put it on his tab, please."

Renji turned his head and immediately met _**breasts**_, nearly swallowed by the ample assets. Well, that pretty much identified his mooching companion. Pulling back just a tad so he could breathe, he peered at Matsumoto. Dear kami, was that what Hitsugaya-taichou had to survive every day?

She was grinning at him while awaiting the arrival of her drink. "You look a bit frustrated, Renji," she stated in that no-nonsense tone of hers, happily accepting the alcohol that was pushed her direction. She downed it the moment it arrived and signaled for another.

Snorting at the obviousness of her statement, Renji reached for his own drink, swirling the sake around and around in the bowl. "You have no fuckin' idea," he drawled into the clear alcohol before downing it in one fell swoop.

Matsumoto hummed sympathetically, but it didn't completely hide the giggle of amusement that escaped her. "Oh, I might," she trilled, as though amused by her own joke and bumped him with her shoulder again.

Renji's suspicions began to grow, and he peered at her from the corner of his eyes. She knew something; he was sure of it. Either that or her slight inebriation was making her more giggly and teasing than normal. Then again, it could have easily been both. One was never sure with Rangiku.

He reached over and prodded her with a finger. "Whaddya know, Ran?" he demanded, oh-so-subtly pushing another drink her way with his free hand. Who cared if it was a bribe? "Spill it."

She took the bribe, gulped it down, and wiggled the empty glass in his direction demonstratively. Muttering a curse under his breath, Renji signaled the bartender for another one and bemoaned the loss of the rest of his pay for this week. Well, if she gave him the goods, it would be worth it.

Predictably, Rangiku refused to speak until she had received the other half of her bribe. "Well," she said with a toss of strawberry-blond hair over one shoulder. "Rumor has it that a certain icy taichou is a bit perturbed over some recent information that was given to his adoring public."

Renji blinked. Icy? That could mean either Kuchiki or Hitsugaya. But he had the sneaking suspicion it was the latter. When Rangiku tossed him a look, he urged another drink her direction. It was a silent request for her to continue. Sake and liquor were the easiest ways to get Rangiku to talk.

Matsumoto grinned at him and shook her head, wagging one finger in his direction. "You never should have told all those girls about taichou liking candy. He found out you did it, yanno."

Renji's jaw dropped, still taken by surprise. "Hitsugaya-taichou?" he repeated in amazement. "_He's_ pullin' pranks on me!"

She winked. "You shouldn't have said that about him, even if it was true. He took it personally."

His eyebrows tried to crawl into his hairline. Great. He'd pissed off a captain. Wonderful. It had been a harmless little joke. And it had been Rukia's idea! But no, all the blame had to fall on Renji. Of course. And now he had a fully angered Hitsugaya Toushirou after him.

A squishy body pressed against his side, accompanied by a giggle as Rangiku breathed on his ear. He would have been interested were it not for the sudden dread of being frozen over in uncomfortable spots.

"I have an idea," Rangiku practically purred at him, and he got the hint, ordering another sake for her. "You should get your own revenge."

The idea and subsequent plan had merit. Or perhaps that was just the sake talking. Either way, Renji found himself agreeing with Rangiku and listening to her plan.

Which was why a night and several hours later, he found himself standing in the massive courtyard of the first division, waiting for Matsumoto to do her part. She was supposed to lure her captain there for some reason or another so that Renji could enact his revenge.

There was a trickle of reiatsu on the edge of his senses, riddled with frost and flakes of ice. An uncertain feeling crept up Renji's spine. He had the sensation of something directly behind him. Frowning, Renji turned around ever so slowly, only to lay eyes on Hitsugaya-taichou, standing just behind him.

The icy captain was smirking at him and in one of his hands, he was carrying a bag of _something_, Renji couldn't be sure. The vice-captain blinked and furrowed his brow, wondering just where Rangiku had gone. It was then that he felt the ice creeping over his feet.

Suddenly, Rangiku's absence made a hell of a lot of sense. He had been set up. And by Rangiku no less. Oh, how the world had turned.

And the chance for escape had long since passed him by. He was now rooted to the spot by a thick rime of ice. He couldn't even reach for his zanpakutou since it was frozen onto his hip. All he could do was stare at the approaching captain, who looked far too self-satisfied for his own good.

"You know," the midget began, circling around him like a shark would prey. The bag in his hand rustled. "I'm usually pretty reasonable. But when I am accosted by dozens of teenage girls from the living world, all who want to give me candy because Renji-kun recommended it, I tend to lose my sense of restraint."

A nervous laugh escaped Renji as he put an apologetic look on his face. He prepared to make his case, but all that came out was a babble of blame and excuses.

"It was Rukia's idea! I swear it! And really, don't you think all that candy was enough 'cause--"

His babble ended when Hitsugaya looked at him and more frost crept up his body. He could feel the coldness in his chest, and it made him shiver uncontrollably. He wondered what was in the bag.

"Let this be a lesson to you, Abarai-fukutaichou," the captain continued in that same placid tone that scarily reminded him of Kuchiki Byakuya. "It would probably be wiser not to listen to Kuchiki-san's suggestions in the future."

Renji swallowed thickly and wondered if he was going to die. He watched as ice glimmered in Hitsugaya-taichou's pale eyes and said his final prayers, cursing Rukia's very existence.

The bag rattled ominously.

No escaping now.

Twenty minutes later, the first division had a new centerpiece for their courtyard. One formerly red-haired Shinigami, frozen in a rather undignified position and wearing nothing more than an outfit resembling something that would belong to a schoolgirl from the living world. Complete with long, striped socks and bouncy pigtails.

Rangiku made absolutely certain to take pictures. They would be used for blackmail later.

And Rukia?

She made absolutely certain to hide. When Renji broke free from the kidoh Hitsugaya-taichou had bound him with, he was going to be out for blood. Most preferably her own.

* * *

AN: I totally fail at the end of this. Ugh. I couldn't get it together so it just ended rather lamely. I'll do better next time. Promise!

On that note... I passed 700 reviews. Wow. I never would have thought to pass one-hundred, much less seven-hundred. You guys are all freaking awesome! And don't worry, I have up to at least 118 with more to come because I've got plenty of requests still in queue. I hope you enjoyed! Expect one more update of this before the year is out. Huzzah!


	100. What the Fox Dragged In

**Title: What the Fox Dragged In (And Subsequently Kept)**

**Pairing/Characters: Gin/Ichigo**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Male/Male kissing, language, OOC like woah.**

**Words: 1,518**

**Description: Ichigo discovers Stockholm Syndrome at its greatest.**

**Dedication: For Teslyn, who wanted a sequel to **_**Can I Keep Him**_**? Umm, I think I at least managed to keep the same level of crack? Enjoy!**

* * *

Ichigo woke slowly, unable to remember the last sixteen years of his existence. That might have seemed like an exaggeration, but due to the pulsing of his skull, he could hardly recall more than his name. And thinking any deeper than that hurt like a bitch.

He made a mental note to _getsuga tenshou_ whichever Espada it was that ran him over.

Peeling his eyes open, he found himself staring at a white ceiling. And he meant _white_. It was practically blinding in its brightness. Blinking, he tipped his head to the side and glanced around the room. Definitely not at home.

The walls around him were the same stark color as the ceiling, though there were pictures tacked up here and there. They looked to be like finger-paintings and were brightly colored, depicting various scenes. A window on the right wall was covered in thick red curtains. There was a door on the far side of the room, closed. And at that distance, he didn't know if it was locked or not. Zangetsu was propped up against a chair near the bed and within arm's reach if he strained.

He couldn't help but wonder just where in hell he was. He couldn't remember what had happened last. It was just this big blank spot in his mind. He recalled trying desperately for something. Looking for someone? Trying to save... someone?

Orange. Fairies. Large and jiggling assets.

…Someone?

Gah, his head hurt.

Ichigo groaned and placed a hand on his forehead as he rose upwards. Swinging his legs over the side of the rather comfortable bed, bare feet settled on a cold floor. His entire body ached with the movement, tugging at wounds beneath his clothing, and he hissed in pain.

Pressing one hand to his side where he could feel bandages beneath cloth, he realized something was off. Ichigo looked down, and his eyes widened. His clothes had been... changed? What the hell? Where was his shihakushou? And why was he all in white?

Scratch that.

Who the fuck changed him while he was unconscious? And sweet kami, now that he was paying attention, where was his underwear?

Something like a blush began to stain his cheeks at the thought of a stranger stripping him down and redressing him. Clearly, he had to get out of here soon. Wherever _here _was. Which meant that he had to make every effort to get up... As soon as his legs stopped wobbling beneath him.

The sound of humming floated to his ears in a low, masculine tone. Ichigo turned towards the door very slowly, watching as the knob moved, and it literally creaked open. In stepped a white-clothed figure carrying a silver tray covered in dishes, some happy little song that suspiciously sounded like the wedding march being hummed under his breath.

Ichimaru Gin.

Ichimaru Gin was walking into Ichigo's current residence as if there was nothing wrong about it. And the smile on his face seemed to widen as his entire face brightened.

"Kurosaki-kun!" Ichimaru chirped at him like they were long-lost friends and not, you know, mortal enemies. "Yer awake!"

Brown eyes widened impossibly large, and to his mortification, Ichigo flailed. He nearly swallowed his tongue as he scrambled backwards on the bed, at the same time trying to reach for Zangetsu and ending up with this three-legged thumping crawl with one arm waving wildly in the air.

"Ichimaru!" he declared indignantly and angrily and other such words that described a teenager surprised to find himself in the lion's den and _changed_ out of his normal clothes.

But before he could even wrap fingers around Zangetsu, the grinning man was between him and the zanpakutou. And Ichigo was flailing at the white of his clothes. He promptly backpedaled, instantly suspicious.

"Ya mus' be hungry," Ichimaru continued as though Ichigo hadn't said anything, or even reacted really. He thrust the tray in Ichigo's direction, plates and cups rattling. "Here. I had Stark-bo whip it up fer ya. He's great in th' kitchen."

Blinking, Ichigo took the tray without really knowing why. A flavorful scent floated to his nose, causing his stomach to rumble appreciatively. When was the last time he'd eaten?

And yet, his eyes still flickered to his zanpakutou, wanting Zangetsu in his hands rather than over _there_ where he couldn't reach him.

It was all so surreal. And Ichigo had the sudden and almost absurd thought that maybe it was just a really weird dream.

Yeah, that was it. He was at home or at the geta-boushi's, getting his wounds treated by Orihime, and he was suffering from a really bad dream. Ichigo decided to go with that. He picked up the chopsticks. Might as well not starve since it was just a dream and all.

Ichimaru just smiled at him, as if pleased by his decision, and plopped down on the bed next to his new _friend_. Ever-so-subtly inching away from close contact, Ichigo picked at his food. After several moments of uncomfortable silence and the feel of his injuries throbbing, he decided to humor his dream.

"Are you going to kill me?" the teenager demanded, really, really wanting Zangetsu again. He wondered if he could dive for his zanpakutou before Ichimaru managed to skewer him.

"Now why would I do something like tha'?" Ichimaru asked logically. "Aizen-taichou gave ya to me after all. It'd be a shame ter lose my pet."

"Oh… well, that makes sense." He took a bite of perfectly cooked rice and then promptly choked.

Ichigo swiveled his head towards Ichimaru so quickly that he nearly got whiplash. "Wait. Pet?" he demanded and swelled up with indignation. "Like hell!"

Reiatsu began to surge from his body in an angry whirl. And even Shirosaki was just this side of displeased.

Ichimaru bopped him on the nose, causing him to drop his chopsticks in shock. "Behave," he scolded.

And then, he kissed Ichigo. Just like that, no warning whatsoever.

Ichigo thought his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets. He went absolutely still in shock, mouth falling open with surprise. Which Ichimaru took full advantage of. The benefits of being evil, he supposed.

His first thought, however, wasn't anything like he suspected it would be considering his present situation.

Rather than "Shit! I'm being kissed by the enemy, and once more, he's a man!"

It went more like, "Wow, his lips are surprisingly soft for being so thin."

And then, "He tastes like strawberries."

Lastly, he thought, "This really isn't a dream. Is it?"

He didn't even realize he had said the last aloud until Ichimaru chuckled at him.

Those eyes slitted open just enough to give him a glimpse of bright cherry-amber, twinkling with bemusement. "Nope," Ichimaru replied cheerily and then patted him on the head like one would a dog which did something very well. "Now, eat yer dinner. Ya don' wanna get sick," he added rose to his feet with a squeak of bedsprings.

Ichigo was surprised to find his face flushing to the very roots of his hair. He could feel the burning on his cheeks. He stared as Ichimaru puttered around the room and then easily lifted Zangetsu's weight into his hands.

"I'll just take this fer now," he stated casually.

And well, that was all it took to get Ichigo to rise into action. He leapt from the bed with an angry shout, only to promptly feel his knees buckle beneath him as he slumped back down onto the bed. Okay, so maybe he wasn't fully healed at all. In fact, he just felt several of his wounds reopen, and now, his head was spinning fuzzily.

"Ya should probably get some sleep, Ichi-kun," Ichimaru said happily, ignoring Ichigo's rather pathetic attempt at escape. He wrapped those long fingers around the door knob and turned it, preparing to step into the hall. "Don' worry. I'll be back ta play wit ya later!"

And then, he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him with a sound that definitely implied some sort of lock sliding into place.

With a groan, Ichigo threw himself back onto the bed and splayed against the covers. He had the feeling that it was useless to get up and check the door. Or the window. He doubted Ichimaru would make it that simple to escape. And he wouldn't leave Zangetsu behind anyway.

He couldn't believe it.

Trapped. Kidnapped really, if he wanted to look at it that way. And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He wished he had taken those kidoh lessons that the geta-boushi had wanted to give him because he was pretty damn helpless without Zangetsu.

And what had Ichimaru meant by "play," and why did his body not seem disinclined towards it?

Ichigo wondered if anyone was going to come save him for once. After all, it seemed he was going to be stuck here for quite some time until someone got off their lazy asses and organized a rescue.

After all, Rukia and Orihime and that snot Ishida all owed him one.

* * *

a/n: I absolutely love this one. Thus the reason I made it lucky number one-hundred! And don't worry, I'm not stopping here. I have plenty more to come. I just wanted to reach 100 before the new year rolls in.

I do hope you like it as much as I do. Thanks for reading! And thanks for helping me reach 100!


	101. Rukia's Dating Service Byakuya

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service - Byakuya**

**Characters: Ichigo, Byakuya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crack. Language.**

**Words: 1327**

Description: Byakuya could be a bastard, but Ichigo understood the pain of being forced into a date one wanted nothing to do with.

* * *

Ichigo looked at the array of dishes and silverware perfectly arranged in front of him and felt the urge to kill something. Anything really. When it got to the point that he had to _decide_ between _this _fork and _that _fork to eat a salad the size of a quarter, things were beyond ridiculous. He longed for the rationality of battle, even as a part of him wondered why someone as traditional as the Kuchiki family would even have silverware.

Across from him, Byakuya was eating with perfect and poised manners, having no difficulty whatsoever in choosing his utensil. His fork didn't even clink as it touched the elegant plates, the edges likely gilded from something as extravagant as gold. He didn't even appear to notice the servant hovering anxiously in the background. Ichigo couldn't eat with those nervous eyes constantly watching him.

Rukia was surely somewhere laughing her ass off at him. And Ichigo vowed a swift and painful revenge. Why he let her goad him into these stupid dates was beyond him. But a part of him was beginning to wonder if there was even anyone worth dating out there in the Shinigami world.

Sighing to himself, Ichigo again glanced at the ridiculous portion of food on his plate and then turned his attention to Byakuya. "So how did she convince you?" he asked in a try for conversation.

The sound of his voice echoed hollowly in the vast emptiness of Byakuya's noble dining room, where he probably could have heard a pin drop on the completely dust and mark-free floor. Grey eyes remained locked in a perfectly neutral position as Byakuya brought fork to mouth, ignoring the question.

The urge to hurt something reared its ugly head once more. Ichigo gave up on trying to figure which fork he needed and grabbed his drink, condensation fogging the sides. After drinking deeply of the water, which earned a scowl of disapproval from the great Kuchiki-taichou-sama, Ichigo shrugged.

"Fine," he stated, voice echoing in a creepy way again. "We're done here." He shifted to get up from the table, muscles tensed to rise.

"Wait."

He paused and flicked his eyes to Byakuya. The elder Shinigami looked vaguely pained as he worked his jaw. The words were forced slowly and carefully from his lips.

"The dinner must last a full hour," he said as though each word pained him.

Ichigo blinked and collapsed back into his seat. "What?"

Firming his lips, Byakuya straightened. "The dinner must last a full hour," he repeated more slowly than before and then added, "and I must kiss you."

His jaw dropping from sheer disbelief, Ichigo stared. "What the hell?"

With a small frown at the expletive, Byakuya explained, "It was the condition."

And he said nothing more. Though Ichigo could clearly see his fingers clench around his silverware, the only indication of his annoyance. That and the tightening of the skin near his eyes. One couldn't tell at first glance, but Byakuya was very clearly pissed the fuck off.

Ichigo winced. "Tell you what. Let's not and say we did."

Attractive man or not, Ichigo wasn't about to invite frostbite by attempting to kiss the Kuchiki glacier. Besides, he was pretty damn certain that Byakuya wasn't in the least bit gay or interested.

He watched as Byakuya considered this for several long moments, fingers clenching and unclenching around his fork. "She will know," he finally stated, and it was in a conspiratorial tone, very close to wary.

Ichigo blinked again. Stared. And then abruptly burst out laughing. He couldn't help himself. He paused, just for effect, to glance at Byakuya once more. Kuchiki-hime was still entirely bland-faced, and Ichigo started laughing again.

"Can you hear yourself?" he questioned. "You act like Rukia's a ninja or something. That she's going to come bursting out of the shadows to point fingers."

Byakuya's eyebrow twitched visibly, and Ichigo noticed that his fork was now bent into an arc. He clearly didn't appreciate being laughed at… or the situation he was currently trapped within.

Gaining control of himself, Ichigo returned Byakuya's arctic gaze. "What is she holding over your head?"

Taking a breath, he forced himself to set the fork down. "It is none of your business."

It was said in a very cold, forbidding tone. But Ichigo could have sworn that Byakuya's eyes were crying to be saved.

"_Help me_," they said. Begged. Pleaded. "_Help me!_"

And well, Byakuya could be a bastard, but Ichigo understood the pain of being forced into a date one wanted nothing to do with. So casting the captain a disbelieving look, Ichigo pushed away from the far-too-elegant salad in front of him and met the Kuchiki noble stare for cold-Byakuya-glare.

"How did she bribe you?" he repeated and enunciated each word as though Byakuya had suddenly grown a little dull.

A muscle jumped in the Kuchiki heir's jaw. Silence reigned at the table before he sucked in a slow, forced breath.

"She has come across some information that would result in my mortification were it to be made public."

Ichigo lifted a brow. It was plainly obvious by the blush Byakuya was forcefully trying to obliterate that the information was of a romantic nature. Most likely an unrequited crush. It took every effort not to smirk.

"Who was it?" he inquired, infinitely curious.

When Byakuya didn't immediately answer, nearly bristling at simply being asked to reveal his secret, Ichigo assured him.

"Who would I tell anyway?" He waved a hand in a vague direction. "Besides, I want to get out of this as much as you."

The Kuchiki noble considered this for several long moments. And then, glancing furtively around and dismissing his servant with a clipped command, he realized they were alone. Lowering his voice, he looked everywhere but at Ichigo.

"Unohana Retsu."

The teenager absorbed the name and then searched his sieve-like memory for a face to go with the name. It came slowly, but eventually he remembered. Braid-lady. The nice woman from the fourth division. He thought about the two of them together. It could work, he supposed. Byakuya was practically crying "_Heal me!_" behind that blank and icy facade.

Nodding to himself, Ichigo picked up a random fork and poked listlessly at his wilting salad. "I'll think of something," he finally said, popping the crunchy greens into his mouth and wishing for one of Yuzu's bento.

Grey eyes narrowed. "You will speak of this to no one," Byakuya warned him, the room filling with the scent of cherry blossoms as a subtle threat.

Lips still wrapped around the fork, Ichigo raised a brow at the other Shinigami. He could distinctly remember defeating Byakuya not too long ago, though Kuchiki-hime still called it a draw. Whatever. As strong as he was now, Ichigo pretty much figured he could take Byakuya down without any uncertainties in the outcome.

Still, the object of the evening wasn't to draw the captain into another bloody and long battle. So he shrugged off the statement and finished off the bite he had taken. Byakuya couldn't help being a prissy bastard he supposed.

"Wasn't planning on it," he responded and looked hopefully around for the return of the servant. He really wanted something other than the pinch of greenery on his plate.

Byakuya stared at him for another long minute more and then finally returned to eating his own dinner with a much-mangled fork in hand. The silence between them was one of shared understanding and acceptance.

"But I'm still not going to kiss you," Ichigo added.

Byakuya glanced at him blankly for a moment before turning back to his food, relaxing with relief.

And that was that.

* * *

AN: Mah, it _died_ at the end. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to embarrass Byakuya. It's fun to discomfort him. Mwa ha!

There's still more in this series, don't worry. Eventually, Ichigo will meet the perfect match.

Thanks for reading!


	102. Of Stars and Silence

**Title: Of Stars and Silence**

**Pairings/Characters: Hitsugaya/Ichigo (lightly), mentions of others**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Takes place directly after the Shinigami appear in Karakura and before Grimmjow and company attack. **

**Words: 193**

**Description: Comfortable silence fell between them, neither needing conversation to be at ease with each other.**

**Dedication: For yaoihentaiqueen, who wanted a Hitsu/Ichi**

* * *

For Inoue Orihime, it was a good idea. But for the rest of them dragged into the madness of the celebration, it was one huge and crazy mess. Especially for Toushirou, who wanted nothing to do with the loud music, the loud laughter, or the copious amounts of strange food and even stranger decorations.

Brightly colored bits of paper that the human woman had called "streamers" were streaked from wall to wall. Paper lanterns of varying colors were lit in every corner, giving the room a very rainbow appearance. Inoue was flitting around like a butterfly, trying to welcome the reluctant Shinigami.

Madarame had complained about the lack of booze, until Ayasegawa had given him the "frown of disapproval" for causing a _beautiful_ woman like Inoue to appear upset. The third-seat had immediately shut up, only to goad Abarai into a spar. They were currently beating each other up in a macho way out on the street. Toushirou was just waiting for the local law to come and already had his response in mind.

No, he didn't know those idiots. And yes, feel free to haul them away.

Heh, served them right.

It was thoughts like that which secretly amused Toushirou. Especially now that he had retreated to the safety of the balcony, away from the volume and press of too many bodies in Inoue's small apartment. Not for the first time, he cursed his vice-captain in his mind for making him attend this party. It was sweet of Inoue to welcome them, true, but this sort of thing just wasn't something he enjoyed.

Leaning against the rail, Toushirou allowed his gaze to wander up to the cloudless sky, stars a sharp twinkle against black. They were in different positions here than in Soul Society. Although for some reason, he had expected them to be the same.

Behind him, the door slid open with a faint sound. It briefly let out the noise and bustle from within, something peppy playing on the stereo and Matsumoto's calls for someone to dance with her. Then, the door slid shut, surrounding the balcony in a muffled silence once more. Strong reiatsu, practically pouring from the visitor's pores, identified the other individual.

Kurosaki stepped up the railing on the other side of him, taking up a position that near mimicked Toushirou's. "You're hiding," he said and tilted his head back to look up at the stars as well.

Toushirou snorted. "I am not," he retorted defensively, fingers tapping against the chilled metal of the railing. One hand tugged at his collar, still having trouble getting accustomed to the feel of his clothes.

"You are."

If he wasn't mistaken, Kurosaki's eyes were definitely glinting. He was teasing Toushirou. Lips firming, the captain humphed and turned his gaze upwards.

After a moment, Kurosaki chuckled and shook his head. "Why aren't you inside? Inoue was looking for you. She was worried you weren't having any fun."

Toushirou rolled his eyes. "That is not fun," he pointed out, though it was only after he furtively looked around to make sure the sensitive female was nowhere present. "That is madness perpetrated by idiots. I'd rather be out here alone."

The substitute Shinigami's lips twitched, as though planning to smile but stopping halfway. "You don't seem to mind my presence," Kurosaki pointed out.

Fighting the warmth that statement produced, the captain pretended nonchalance. "Well, maybe I'd rather be out here with you than in there with them," he stated gruffly, making it clear that he was only _grudgingly_ admitting that truth.

Kurosaki blinked at him, brown eyes warm as always. "Toushirou, I didn't know you cared."

He didn't bother to correct the moron. There was no one around to hear the lack of proper title anyways.

"Yeah, well, don't put more in it than there is, Kurosaki. I still think you're an idiot."

The smile twitched again. "Duly noted." Kurosaki's gaze returned to the stars as a comfortable silence fell between them, neither needing conversation to be at ease.

Raucous laughter could be heard within the apartment. No one seemed to have notice their disappearance. Toushirou had no intention of returning to the celebration. He tapped his fingers a few more times on the railing and then moved just a step closer to Ichigo, able to feel the taller male's heat.

Ichigo pretended not to notice, though he too moved a smidge closer. Until they were bumping shoulders… well, elbows and shoulders.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night.

* * *

a/n: Sometimes, I swear that I didn't know I could write such fluff. Sigh. It's cute.

Hope you liked it! I'm slowly filling those requests, so you should see more popping up soon. Thanks!


	103. Sugar and Spice

**Title: Sugar and Spice**

**Pairings: Gin/Rukia (one-sided)**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Some Spoilers to the Hueco Mundo Arc  
**

**Words: 705**

**Description: From the moment Gin had seen the little sad-eyed girl, looking so much like her dearly departed sister, he had wanted to taunt her.**

**Dedication: For Juud, who wanted a Gin/Rukia, which stumped me for the longest time. I intended something sweet and fluffy; instead, I got just this side of psychotic. I hope you like it anyway. **

* * *

Gin had always heard that little girls were made of sugar and spice and everything nice. But as far as he could tell, Rangiku had only ever been made of sake and laziness. And she was the closest thing to a girl he had ever known before entering the Shinigami Academy and the Gotei-13 soon after.

There was something about Kuchiki Rukia, however, that made him recall the phrase once more. Aizen-taichou preferred to associate it to his vice-captain, but Gin wasn't convinced. Hinamori wasn't sugar and spice; she was insanity and obsession all wrapped into an adorable little package. She was something Gin didn't dare touch, not even with his near suicidal sense of bravery.

Rukia though was a different story.

From the moment Gin had seen the little sad-eyed girl, looking so much like her dearly departed sister, he wanted to poke her. He wanted to taunt her and watch the fear creep into those large blue eyes. He purposefully found moments to speak with her brother when she was present, purposefully let his reiatsu leak from him with just enough effort to steal her breath.

His lips found themselves widening into a larger smirk, and he even entertained thoughts of opening his eyes. Just so he could see her reaction to the blood shade and the other emotions glimmering within them.

She was this delicate little thing, like precious glass, her limbs thin and pale. Her waist tiny enough that he could probably wrap his long-fingered hands completely around it. Perhaps even with room to spare. Painfully polite and very withdrawn, her very aura screamed of uncertainty. And no matter what he said to her, she didn't dare bite back. Gin knew it was because she didn't want to disappoint her new brother, to lose her place at his side. And it amused him to push her and prod her, to see the spice.

It was a very unhealthy obsession of his, though he was loathe to name it that since it put him on the same level as Hinamori. He couldn't help but seek out Rukia like a moth drawn to a flame. And if her brother noticed, he never said anything. Just narrowed those cold Kuchiki eyes and continued with his glacial Kuchiki politeness.

It didn't stop Gin in the slightest. He found himself wanting to run his tongue across her skin, that pale and dainty flesh. He wondered if she tasted as sweet as she looked, if the shiver of fear he always caught would have the same rhythm as a shiver of pleasure. Unsettling her became one of his greatest amusements when he wasn't caught up in his plots with Aizen-taichou.

It was a fixation that never bore any fruit for Gin, who had left Soul Society before ever actually acting on anything. But he never forgot leaving her on that bridge, giving her an ounce of hope, only to tear it away at the last moment. The look of despair on her face had sweetened the moment, and her scream of anger and pain sent shivers up his own spine. It was a rather lovely parting gift.

He would have killed her simply because Aizen-taichou had commanded it; Gin obeyed whenever Aizen-taichou asked anything. But a small part of him was pleased when her brother appeared out of nowhere like some damned knight in shining armor and took the blow intended for her. It would have been such a shame to pierce that lovely skin.

And when she appeared in Hueco Mundo, Gin watched her fight against Aaronierro with great interest. He knew that the ninth Espada was no match for her, and the smile never left his face as he watched her emerge victorious in the end. What a pity that her brother had to appear and save her again before Gin could lay claim to the battered and broken form.

Aizen-taichou had often teased him about his fixation on the Kuchiki girl. Gin had always returned with that he simply couldn't resist the lure of sugar and spice, such a contrast trapped within one seemingly delicate woman. All he had ever wanted was one taste.

Such a pity he hadn't ever managed to accomplish that.

* * *

A/n: This was unexpectedly difficult to write. And with Rukia's disgust with Gin, I couldn't think of a mutually happy one. Still, I'm rather pleased with it.

And, if you would please, participate in a poll that I've submitted to my readers at AFF. I promised them a pairing, smutty fic for reaching 500 reviews. And I've a threeway tie that needs to be broken. So vote! Here's the link: http : // snappoll . com / poll / 307677 . php Just take out the spaces.

I hope you enjoyed!


	104. Chocolate Temptations

**Title: Chocolate Temptations**

**Pairings: Ichigo/Byakuya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Light yaoi, Kissing**

**Words: 797**

**Description: Part of the _Never Been Kissed _series. Byakuya thinks he's discovered a new addiction in more ways than one. **

**Dedication: For Baroqueangel, who wanted another in the Never Been Kissed series. **

* * *

Byakuya was confused, and for him, that wasn't an emotion he was used to harboring. Frowning, he looked down at the box in his hands, hoping it would make sense with a second glance. Brightly colored and wrapped with a bow. It didn't suddenly change.

"Ichigo," he began with all the patience that he could muster. "Why have you given me chocolates?"

His lover shifted in front of him, scowl firmly in place. "It's a celebration in the living World. you're supposed to give them to your... _you know_ on this day. And since you're mine..." he trailed off with a shrug, scowl deepening. "Just take the damn things."

Blinking, Byakuya's gaze shifted between the teen and the box. "But chocolates?"

"Would you prefer a stuffed animal?" Ichigo demanded, pushing at the box and shoving it further towards the noble's chest. "Besides, I had Yuzu make them." He tapped it with one finger. "Be grateful."

The frown of confusion never left Byakuya's face. "I... honestly don't know what to say." He felt completely speechless, having little understanding of this human custom.

What was he supposed to do? Did one gift deserve another? And was he required to do something in return? What was the significance of the gift? And why was Ichigo's blush only deepening?

He watched as Ichigo shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets, looking off to the side as though Byakuya's wall was far more interesting. He freed one hand long enough to rake it through his hair before returning it to the safety of his pants. It was almost cute.

Deciding to humor him, Byakuya pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it, the smell of chocolate wafting to his nose. Despite never having a taste for it before, he found himself interested and carefully selected one of the small, dark squares. Sniffing it cautiously, he popped the candy into his mouth and lifted his eyebrows. It was actually rather palatable, robust and bittersweet, not overly sugary like he would have expected.

He rolled the flavor around in his mouth, letting it settle over his tongue. The chocolate melted rather easily, and he swallowed the first square, already contemplating a second one. These things were dangerous Byakuya decided as he licked his lips. A man could easily get addicted to them.

And then, it felt as if eyes were watching him. In the midst of bringing another piece of chocolate to his lips, he looked up to find Ichigo staring at him. Brown eyes had darkened with interest, seemingly locked on the piece of candy in his hold.

Byakuya arched one brow. "Something wrong?"

Ichigo shook his head and closed the distance between them. "No. I just want a taste, too." And though the blush on his cheeks seemed to belie his actions, Ichigo took that moment to swoop down and steal Byakuya's lips.

He slid his tongue into the noble's mouth, tasting both the rich chocolate and a flavor that was uniquely Byakuya. A sound echoed in Byakuya's throat beneath the lusty onslaught, fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back. The one chocolate he held dropped from his fingers as he curled them in the front of Ichigo's shihakushou.

A sense of rising lust filled the entryway of Byakuya's manor, where they had gotten no further than when Ichigo shoved the chocolates at him. He was suddenly reminded of how long it had been since he'd last seen his lover. At least a week, if not more, since Ichigo had been able to come to Seireitei and Byakuya had been able to leave for the living world.

The kiss ended with much reluctance, Byakuya finding a smirk curving at his lips. "I apologize. I didn't realize to get you anything in return," he murmured as Ichigo released his hair and grabbed the box from his hands, dropping it indiscreetly to the floor. His other hand settled on Byakuya's hip, pulling them closer together.

"Che," he snorted, burying his face in Byakuya's throat and licking a line across his Adam's apple. "Surprised Rukia didn't bash you in the head to do it." He nipped gently at the noble's neck and caused Byakuya's blood to pump with heat. "I'll forgive you this once."

Byakuya's skin prickled as he felt Ichigo ground against him. "Perhaps you can forgive me in the bedroom," he suggested, finding the hallway a rather conspicuous place.

Chuckling against his throat, Ichigo brought his mouth back up to Byakuya's, covering his lips. "Perhaps," he muttered against pale skin. Still, he slowly backed down the corridor, pulling the noble along with him.

Byakuya was inclined to agree.

* * *

a/n: Probably should have saved this for closer to Valentine's day, but I had it ready now so I hope you enjoyed! Maybe one day I'll actually write them doing something rather than just hinting to it. Heh. More requests coming!


	105. Intermediation

_a/n: Alright guys! This is the first step into actual M territory. So if you don't like smuttiness, step away from this piece. I mean it! I don't want to hear any complaints.  
So, if you're not of age, don't read this. If you don't like boys touching other boys, don't read this. Etc, etc, etc. _

_After this, there are more M pieces to come._****

**Title: Intermediation**

**Pairings: Grimmjow/Ichigo/Ulquiorra**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. Pretty much PWP. **

**Words: 2,930**

**Description: Ichigo never thought that being caught in the middle of two dangerous Espada would have its benefits. **

**Dedication: To BittSweetMiss. who wanted an GrimmIchiUlqui that wasn't rape. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was times like these that Ichigo wondered how he'd gotten into this mess. To be involved in a relationship with not just one but _two_ Espada was really pushing it. And not only that, they were _fighting_ over him, for lack of a better word.

Or perhaps it would be too strong of a phrase to use since Ulquiorra was above physical confrontation over any being that wasn't his precious Aizen-sama. Though Grimmjow goaded him quite often, he never riled as easily as his counterpart wanted. Which in retrospect meant they weren't really fighting _over_ him as much as they were fighting through him because Grimmjow would use any and all reasons to pick a fight with Ulquiorra. It never mattered that the fourth Espada could wipe the floor with him. Ichigo thought that Grimmjow was secretly masochistic.

And honestly, Ichigo couldn't really remember how it all had started. He was pretty certain that he had Ulquiorra to blame in the beginning. And whatever Ulquiorra had, Grimmjow wanted, which dragged the sixth Espada into it completely without Ichigo's consent.

He remembered that it had been a tugging game for awhile with both trying to _woo_ him – again, for lack of a better word – in their own special way. Which meant that Grimmjow picked a fight with him no matter how often he lost, and Ulquiorra was mildly less disdainful. Ichigo had actually been upgraded from "trash" to "somewhat useful creature" to "Aizen's chosen apprentice." Really, it was an improvement.

Still, it didn't explain how he had gotten here for the nth time in the past month and at the tender and sexual mercies of two of Aizen's most dangerous associates. And the most disturbing thing was he didn't seem to mind. No Ichigo appeared perfectly comfortable in his position. Naked, sweaty, and trapped between two deadly foes, perched on the edge of ecstasy.

He watched with half-lidded eyes as pale fingers, capped with black, traced down the front of his bare chest, sliding slickly through a sheen of sweat. A shiver accompanied the touch, and he sighed, body flexing and straining for attention. The hint of a smirk curled on Ulquiorra's lips, and Ichigo just knew that he was inwardly reveling in how much he could tease the teenager before he just broke and begged.

And then, a mouth clamped on the back of his shoulder, sucking hard and leaving a bruise. Teeth were added with just the slightest edge of pain, causing Ichigo to shudder. Grimmjow didn't like to be ignored. And especially not for the attention to be diverted to Ulquiorra.

Ichigo tilted his head to the side, granting Grimmjow more access as those slightly-fanged teeth left impressions in his skin. Grimmjow's hands slid down his side, a rough touch peppered with calluses, until they gripped Ichigo's hips. He held on with just enough strength to make the Vizard feel like he couldn't get away. Even though he knew he could easily break Grimmjow's hold and kick ass if he needed. He just didn't feel like it. Not when Grimmjow rolled his hips just like that and hit the place inside of him that sent shivers of pleasure through his entire body.

Cool lips covered his mouth, tongue teasing at the seam of his lips before diving inside. Ichigo wrestled with the invader for several moments, enjoying the slippery slide of their tongues. Only to allow Ulquiorra to control the kiss, going as deep or as teasing as he liked. For all his stoic, don't-touch-me behavior, the Espada knew how to kiss. And Ichigo was damned if he knew why.

One hand slid down his chest, dragged fingers through the coarse orange hair, and then traced the straining lines of his arousal. Fingers teased at the seeping tip, and the pad of his thumb brushed over the side. Fucking tease. Ichigo's hips surged forward, demanding something a bit more substantial. But Ulquiorra only drew back, taking his lips with him and leaving Ichigo thrusting forward into empty air.

There was a chuckle behind him, Grimmjow laughing at his expense. That was the only time he approved of Ulquiorra, when the fourth Espada made Ichigo want and didn't follow through. His hot, hungry mouth wandered from the meat of Ichigo's shoulder to the side of his neck, a spot that never failed to heighten the teen's arousal.

His hands clenched where they were locked behind his back, tied loosely together by the obi to his shihakushou. He could break free if he wanted, just a simple tug and surge of reiatsu was all it would take. Only, Ichigo didn't… because if he didn't come in the next twenty minutes he was going to die. They always did this, pushing him to the brink and taking their time in letting him fall.

Che, bastards.

Grimmjow suddenly thrust into him, sliding deep and hot, and Ichigo moaned aloud, unable to keep the sound locked inside his chest where it belonged. His muscles clenched around Grimmjow's shaft invitingly. The rhythm was maddening, a pace designed to arouse but not grant any relief.

Not to be outdone, a coolly wet-warm mouth descended to his bare nipple. Teeth grazed the pert flesh and tugged. Ichigo gasped, arousal flooding a heavy fire in his belly. His head hung forward, surrendering to the desires racing through him. Cool fingers flicked over his other nipple, heightening the pleasure.

Behind him, Grimmjow cursed and muttered something that was clearly an insult to Ulquiorra's looks or abilities. His fingers clamped down tightly on Ichigo's hips hard enough to leave a bruise, which Ichigo was quite used to carrying around on his body, and slammed into him. He pushed with deep, penetrating jabs. Ichigo's shoulders strained as his body threatened to topple forward, and the pleasure shot like rapid staccato through his veins.

Breathing harsh and ragged, he gradually shifted his hips to accept more of the filling thrusts. His body felt on a pin's edge, tipping towards the precipice. And Ulquiorra's mouth wasn't helping.

The lips left his nipple, and Ichigo peeled open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, looking down hazily as Ulquiorra lowered his mouth. A helpless groan escaped Ichigo as he realized the other Espada's destination. Sure enough, he watched as those delicate and deceptively-frail fingers wrapped around his shaft, and Ulquiorra's open mouth breathed a wash of warmish air over him.

His hips jerked forward, eagerly seeking Ulquiorra's mouth. But Grimmjow's grip on his hips kept him firmly in place. The sixth Espada muttered an encouragement under his breath, his own breathing becoming ragged and harsh. He was getting just as aroused by the situation as the teen caught between two Arrancar. A graze of fangs and tongue slid across the back of Ichigo's neck, just to make sure he didn't forget Grimmjow was there.

And he very nearly did when Ulquiorra finally took Ichigo into his mouth. At that point, Ichigo had to close his eyes. Every time he looked down, he would see himself disappearing into Ulquiorra's mouth. He would see those pale lips wrap around him and watch Ulquiorra's throat flex around his length. And it always made him lose control.

Always. Which never failed to piss Grimmjow off. So he closed his eyes and fought the urge to thrust forward and shove backwards, caught between two blazes of pleasure.

A growl of acceptance vibrated in Grimmjow's throat, and he upped his rhythm, thrusts sliding deeper and hotter with each shift of his hips. Ichigo could feel the press of Grimmjow's bare chest against his back and also the dual sensation of the slickness of Grimmjow's hakama beneath his naked thighs.

He wondered why he was the only one ever completely nude for these encounters. Down to his tabi, not a scrap of cloth on his frame. Grimmjow usually left hakama on, though he kicked off his waraji. And Ulquiorra rarely disrobed anything, as though it were some great weakness to reveal a scrap of that ivory skin. Ichigo, however, was left entirely bare, exposed to their wants and desires. He couldn't find it in him to protest, however.

Ichigo shuddered as Ulquiorra's tongue curled around his shaft, and the Espada began to suck with skill he never thought that Ulquiorra would have possessed. Grimmjow responded, never one to let Ulquiorra have all the fun, and released one hold of Ichigo's hip. The free hand slid upwards, grabbed Ichigo's chin, and turned the teen's lips towards the sixth Espada.

Grimmjow kissed like he did everything else, aggressively and with full intent to take over. It was ruthless, and it was hard, lips devouring and fangs scraping, but it always made Ichigo hot. He was panting, body twisting between them as it warred between thrusting forwards and pushing backwards, to take more of Grimmjow inside of him.

He felt and heard Grimmjow snicker against his lips, a chuckle of pride, as Grimmjow's other hand tightened its grip. Fingers dug into his hip, adding a slight edge of pain. And then, Ulquiorra took him deeper, until the head of his cock was hitting the back of the Arrancar's throat.

A rumble of pleasure started in Ichigo's chest as his mind went white-hot with the feeling. He returned Grimmjow's kiss with the same intensity and let go of his control, giving himself over to their touches. Limbs trembling and shaking from the effort, his entire body went taut as he climaxed, spilling himself deep inside Ulquiorra's mouth. Those lips tightened around him, riding out every last tremor, as Grimmjow growled in pleasure for the clenching of his inner muscles.

Utterly spent, Ichigo sagged back against Grimmjow, though the Espada continued to thrust into him. Grimmjow ended the kiss with a smirk, leaving Ichigo's own lips reddened and bruised. In front of him, Ulquiorra oh-so-casually turned his head to the side and spat, never one for swallowing anything. Ichigo barely noticed, his entire body thrumming with pleasure.

He peeled open his eyes and watched as Ulquiorra rose to his feet, efficiently parting his hakama and drawing his slender, hard erection from within. The pale column was reddening from the effort of holding himself back, clear fluid beading at the tip. Ichigo knew without him having to ask, just what Ulquiorra wanted. Grimmjow muttered some kind of encouragement behind him, his breathing growing increasingly ragged. His hand dropped from Ichigo's chin to hurriedly undo the obi wrapped around Ichigo's wrists.

Hands now free, Ichigo reached up and clasped onto Ulquiorra's hips. He looked up, brown eyes meeting impassive green, before taking Ulquiorra into his mouth. He had vowed he would one day force Ulquiorra to make some sort of noise.

Curses spilled from Grimmjow's lips, encouragements and agreements of desire. Both hands gripped Ichigo's hips as he concentrated on seeking his own release, pounding into the teen without mercy. Ichigo could taste Ulquiorra on his tongue, the fourth Espada already on the brink. He palmed the other man's scrotum through the fabric of his hakama, proud of the harsh intake of breath the touch caused.

Ichigo could feel the throbbing on his shoulder and neck where Grimmjow had bitten him. He could feel Grimmjow still moving inside of him, and the feel of his lips wrapped around Ulquiorra threatened to arouse him again. But he was also bone-tired, sweat wet-sticky against his skin. Having sex with two Espada would drain anyone, and he didn't have boundless energy.

He swallowed Ulquiorra, forcing the Espada's cock inside his mouth and wrapping his tongue around it. He could feel Ulquiorra's pulse against him, a strange thing for an Arrancar to have, or so he had always thought. And he could taste Ulquiorra on his tongue, sharp and bitter. It wasn't exactly tasty, but he didn't stop either. It was a flavor he had grown used to.

A pale hand settled on his head, clamping down his hair. A non-verbal cue that Ulquiorra was getting close. He could hear the faint raggedness of the fourth Espada's breathing. And then, Ulquiorra was thrusting into his mouth, hips rocking in and out with a desperate desire for release.

Grimmjow shifted position, leaning forward just slightly and pushing himself deeper inside Ichigo if that were at all possible. He locked his mouth on the back of Ichigo's shoulder, teeth digging into bronzed flesh and pistoned his hips forward. Muttered obscenities were a constant litany in the background, joining the wet slap of skin on skin and the obscene noises of Ichigo's mouth on Ulquiorra.

And the fingers tightened in his hair, threatening to pull some from his scalp. It was all the warning Ichigo received before Ulquiorra climaxed into his mouth, a hot rush of bitter seed. It spilled across his tongue, some sliding down his throat before he could stop it. A sound, a faint growl of enjoyment clawed its way out of Ulquiorra's chest and into the room, and Ichigo reveled in it.

Fingers tightened on his hip, and Grimmjow's mouth clamped down on his shoulder, the Espada surging into him with a harsh thrust that took Ichigo by surprise. He flailed for a grip on Ulquiorra's hip, accidentally swallowing the load in his mouth as Grimmjow roared, spilling his release inside Ichigo with a shudder. He could feel the wet rush of fluid and just knew there were going to be hand-shaped bruises on his hips.

He let Ulquiorra slip from his mouth and slumped back against Grimmjow, the Espada clamping tight to him as the last tremors rocked his body. He let Grimmjow enjoy the final stirrings of his release before jerking out of the Espada's immediate hold.

"You bastard!" Ichigo growled, jabbing an elbow into Grimmjow and trying to twist around to punch him. His other hand scrubbed angrily over his lips. "You made me swallow!"

The Espada merely grinned with pride as he rubbed his spent cock against Ichigo's anus, delighting in the trickle of fluid that came with the motion. "So what, Kurosaki?" he countered. "Angry yer just a cocksucker?"

Ichigo twisted his jaw and then drove his elbow harder, managing to grind it just above the hole where Grimmjow's soul chain had been. A sensitive spot. Grimmjow, however, merely grunted and absorbed the blow. Masochistic bastard.

His hand whipped forward, grabbing Ichigo's chin and kissing him again. Deeply, tongue forcing its way past Ichigo's lips and flicking all around the inside of his mouth. Taking both Ichigo's taste and the remnants of Ulquiorra's release. Damn Grimmjow was the only swallower of the three of them and couldn't understand why they wouldn't. Bastard.

Ichigo felt the hard press of the remnant of Grimmjow's Hollow mask against his jaw. Lost in Grimmjow's lips, Ichigo barely registered as Ulquiorra rose to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants with efficient movements. His impassive gaze swept over the other two, only a flicker of arousal glinting in their depths followed by something almost possessive. But that flicker was still more than had been there before, and Ichigo felt rather proud for making the icy Arrancar feel anything.

Too tired to put up more of a fight, Ichigo slumped against Grimmjow and easily ignored the triumph splitting the sixth Espada's face. Wrapping arms around him possessively, Grimmjow threw himself backwards on the bed and refused to loose his hold. Ichigo called it what it was. _Cuddling_. But Grimmjow preferred to say it was preventing him from escape. Never mind that he never actually tried to do that. Grimmjow just didn't want to admit that he enjoyed the warmth of another as he slept. Nor would he ever admit that he liked to trace his fingers over Ichigo's skin in his sleep.

Ichigo allowed Grimmjow to wrestle him around like some toy, only because he could kick the Espada's ass if necessary. Besides, the bed was comfortable even if Grimmjow's sweat-sticky skin against his wasn't quite. Ulquiorra smirked down at them, amused by Grimmjow's actions and prompting the blue-haired Espada to growl possessively. Rather like a cat.

Ichigo could feel the rumble against his back.

Ulquiorra still had the last word, however, swooping down and catching Ichigo in a deep kiss before the teenager fell asleep. That action never failed to piss Grimmjow off, the sixth Espada spitting something offensive in Ulquiorra's direction. It didn't even faze the other Arrancar, who simply ended the kiss with an almost claiming nip of teeth to Ichigo's lips, green eyes impossibly large.

And then, Ichigo was being jerked back into Grimmjow's hold with a snarl. Ulquiorra lips twitched in amusement before he turned and left, closing the door behind him and leaving Grimmjow to his _cuddling_. Or maybe it was just misnamed possession, the blue-haired Espada not wanting anyone else to lay hands on what he was trying to claim as his. Never mind that Ulquiorra had left his own sort of claim as well.

Again, Ichigo wondered how it had come to this, his body slowly returning to its usual beat as semen cooled stickily between his thighs. That would be a mess when he woke later, but Grimmjow couldn't resist sliding his fingers through the remains and leaving trails of release across Ichigo's skin. Like some sort of predator marking its prey.

Che.

With a snort, Ichigo let the pull of fatigue drag him into sleep. It was a waste of time to wonder anyway.

* * *

a/n: Ah, my first smutty piece. And this one came to me in all of a rush, I wrote it all in one night the moment I received the request.

And, I'm rather proud of it. Heh, heh. I hope you enjoyed!

More requests to come!


	106. Fan Service

**Title: Fan Service**

**Characters: Ukitake Jyuushiro, Kiyone, mentions of many others**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Crack, Utter crack. Beware the crack. **

**Words: 2427**

**Description: Popularity was overrated. Especially when he hadn't gotten his mail in at least a year.**

**Dedication: For SpiderGurl, who wanted Ukitake to answer his fan mail. It was supposed to be number 100 but didn't make it in time. Oops. **

* * *

It was a day like any other day.

Or at least it should have been. But Ukitake Jyuushiro was unbelievably bored. That shouldn't have been possible, thanks to the huge stacks of paperwork on his desk. At the moment, however, Jyuushiro was pretending that it wasn't there. After two thousand years of the same documents, he was a bit tired of seeing them.

Idly stretching his arms over his head, he contemplated faking a fit, if only to escape the humdrum atmosphere of his office. Honestly, where was a Hollow attack when he needed one? They hadn't seen any sign of threat recently. Shouldn't that have been a cause for concern? Perhaps he needed to investigate it right away.

As he pondered, the door to his office swung open without any notice whatsoever. Kiyone had forgotten to knock again. Somehow, Jyuushiro wasn't surprised. Thank kami, he wasn't doing anything... well, embarrassing. Not that he usually did illicit acts in his office in the middle of the day or anything. But it was the principle of the matter.

Clearing his throat, he fixed one of his two third-seats with a warning look. "Kiyone, did you forget something?" he asked as he watched her stumble in, burdened by a huge bag of some sort. White edges could be seen poking out of the top.

"Oh, right. Knocking," she replied with a faint pant, struggling to breathe under her burden. It plopped onto his desk with a defining and rather disturbing thud, sending his paperwork flying in all direction. "I'm sorry, Ukitake-taichou, but this was so heavy and--"

He cut her off with a raised hand, lifting one brow at the huge sack on his desk, eyes wide with confusion. "What is this?" Jyuushiro gestured pointedly to the bag.

She grinned, her shoulders sinking in relief that she would not be immediately chastised. "Fan mail!"

Jyuushiro blinked. "Fan mail?"

"Fan mail," she confirmed with a nod. "And for once, your stack was bigger than Kuchiki-taichou's."

Well, that was pretty damn odd. Jyuushiro couldn't remember ever receiving fan mail before. In fact, in two thousand years, he couldn't recall reading a single letter from these so-called "fans." Cautiously, he reached forward and pulled on the drawstring, loosening the lid of the sack. It resulted in a domino effect.

The bag sagged to one side and flopped open, spilling its contents onto his desk. Envelopes scattered everywhere, many dropping to the floor and covering it in paper of different shades. He selected a pink one and gave it a sniff, only to wrinkle his nose in surprise. And different _smells _apparently_. _

In front of him, Kiyone danced from foot to foot, practically brimming with interest. "Are you going to open them?"

Jyuushiro considered it for all of a moment before deciding that his so-called fan mail would be far more interesting than paperwork. Besides, he would have to dig through it to get to the important documents anyway. And that was the story he was going to tell Genryuusai-sensei.

"I am sorry, sir. But I couldn't turn in my paperwork on time because my fan mail attempted to eat it._"_

Yeah, he could really see that going along so well.

Cracking his knuckles, Jyuushiro got to work. "In the interest of finding my paperwork," he replied loftily as he lifted the pink contraption that smelled strongly of sake, "I will read these letters. Purely for the paperwork."

Kiyone nodded eagerly, her little busybody nose twitching. "Of course."

Shooting her a look, he turned his attention to the first one, using his letter-opener to slice open the envelope. Drawing out a piece of pink stationary, he quickly read the rather short message within.

"_Dear Ukitake-taichou_," the letter began politely. "_Are you and Shunsui gay or not? The world must know!_" And it was from Pretty in Pink.

His eyes widened, even as his cheeks colored. Kiyone choked in front of him. Abruptly balling up the letter, he threw it over his shoulder, one finger scratching nonchalantly at the side of his face.

"Eh, heh," he replied, looking around nervously. "I can't really answer that one right now."

He quickly moved on.

This envelope was standard white and unadorned on the outside. It, too, smelled of sake and freshly cut grass strangely enough. Jyuushiro pulled out a plain note card, the message inscribed in a looping English script. He thought he recognized it immediately.

"_Dear Jyuu-chan_," the letter chirped happily, "_Did you forget about our plans. You know the ones with--_"

He stopped reading aloud at that point, the blush on his cheeks darkening even further. This, too, joined the pink contraption behind him on the floor. He chuckled uneasily.

"That has nothing to do with this fic," he stated with determination, shooting his subordinate a look that fully expected her immediate cooperation in never speaking of this again.

Kiyone nodded fervently. "I should just... go lead a patrol. Shouldn't I, taichou?"

He picked up another envelope, distracted by the lovely feather design around the edges of it. "That would be best," he agreed and was glad for the privacy when she excused herself. Who knew what other sordid things were in the other letters?

The feathered envelope revealed paper with more feathers decorating each corner, elegant and _beautiful_. He could have sworn that he saw it sparkle in the light of his office, making him wince. In fact, Jyuushiro considered that he might need sunglasses.

"_Dear Ukitake-taichou. Is that your natural hair color? And what do you use to make it so shiny and flowy?_" It had been signed with an official name, but that had been scratched out to be replaced by the rather childish looking Frilly-Brows.

He blinked at what appeared to be a rather normal letter. "I didn't even know flowy was a word," Jyuushiro commented, setting that letter off to the side. "And no, it is not natural. It is an unfortunate side effect of this illness."

He sighed in remembrance. He used to have such beautiful black hair.

The captain moved on to another nondescript envelope. But when he opened this one, a small dusting of white sand spilled across his desk. Lovely, he would have to sweep that up later. Or at least, Kiyone would.

"_Dear Ukitake-san, do you have any advice you might offer to a fellow commander of men about how to deal with annoying subordinates? Sincerely, Glasses-chan._"

Jyuushiro furrowed his brow. "Have I suddenly become Dear Abby?" he questioned aloud, shaking his head. "Buy earplugs is the only advice I can give, and really, they don't work so well."

The next letter he didn't even bother to read. One glance at the envelope with its familiar insignia, and he threw it away. Another marriage proposal. Jyuushiro wasn't so desperate that he would agree to an arranged marriage. He preferred to find his leading lady – or man should that prove likely – on his own.

The next letter smelled faintly of antiseptic, and it had crisp, clean lines. As though it had been pressed into every fold. The text was typed onto pure white paper in stark even lines, and there was little arguing with it.

"_Dear Ukitake-taichou, this is a courteous reminder of your physical fitness appointment this Friday afternoon. Please, do not forget again._"

It wasn't signed, but then, it didn't need to be. Jyuushiro could feel her pleasant smile glaring at him from across five divisions. He carefully set that note aside somewhere he wouldn't forget it. Never a good idea to upset his doctor. She had the good drugs. Besides, it was _Shunsui's _fault he had forgotten his last appointment.

Randomly selecting another letter, he found an envelope with the twelfth division symbol stamped in the corner. Rather curious as to why Kurotsuchi would be sending him letters of all things, Jyuushiro opened it, the paper somehow managing to give off a slight scream in protest. He nearly dropped it.

_That _was disturbing.

Blinking, he scanned the actual contents. "_Ukitake-taichou,_" it began rather demandingly and in Kurotsuchi's usual hurried manner, "_it is in your best interest that you agree to partake in these experiments. I can guarantee the minimal impairment necessary to com--_"

He threw it over his shoulder. "No," Jyuushiro stated firmly, pretty certain that he had told the other captain this before. "Just... no."

Rubbing his fingers over his head, Jyuushiro looked at the additional envelopes scattered across his desk and wondered if there was anything at all interesting within them. A pale blue one caught his eye, standing out from the traditional white. Interest perked, he snagged the envelope and dragged it near.

He was immediately disappointed.

"_Warning_," it announced in big red letters. Underlined twice. "_Final notice. The following books have been registered as vastly overdue: __The Art of War__, __The Grapes of Wrath__, __Winnie the Pooh Adventures (abridged)__, __Internet Dating for Dummies__. Please return them at your earliest convenience._" And then, a few lines down. "_Preferably, right __**now**_."

Guiltily, dark eyes glanced at his bookshelf where every one of the aforementioned literary marvels were gracing the ledge. He'd had them for so long he had nearly forgotten about them. He put that letter with the fourth division reminder, another one that required his attention.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure he'd read them all.

Pausing, Jyuushiro moved the note to a different pile. Best to keep them a bit longer then. Just in case. He would just give them another good read and would return them. Earliest convenience, after all.

He searched the stack for another one that stood out from the rest. It was impossibly thick, and when he picked it up, it was heavier than it should have been for a simple letter. Kami, it was big enough to have a book inside of it. There was also a pull-tab on the outside of the letter. And when he gave it a good yank, the envelope opened itself.

A piece of paper fell out, and Jyuushiro watched it unroll, hitting his desk and continuing to roll as it left a trail of paper behind it, all connected to the one in his hand. It wheeled off his desk and onto the floor, heading straight for the door. Jyuushiro leaned to the side a bit and watched as it kept going, rolling across the entryway to his main office, beyond the reception area, and out the front entrance that someone had helpfully left open. He suspected it would stop somewhere around the second division. Maybe.

Jyuushiro sighed, not even needing to look at the words on the paper he still held. He knew what it was.

"Shunsui's bar tab," the captain muttered to himself, sticking his end of the receipt on his desk with a paperweight on top of it. "They know it's the only way it'll ever get paid." He supposed his friend couldn't help it, forgetting those tiny details.

The next envelope was nondescript, plain, and he had grabbed it by accident when reaching for one that was a lovely shade of green. So he took both and opened the plain one first.

A piece of paper fell into his lap, weighted down by the strangeness of the note within it. The words were colorful but only because each letter had been cut out of a different magazine and pasted to the paper. It obviously looked like a threat. And Jyuushiro thought he recognized the first "S" as coming from _Shinigami Monthly_.

"_Stop handing out the candy_," it declared without so much as a greeting, "_We don't want it._" And unusual for threats, it was signed, "_Cool as Ice._"

Jyuushiro grinned and set that one aside for his special folder. "Honestly. If Toushirou didn't want the candy, he should just come out and say it." He made a mental note to order something for Shiro-chan to be delivered right away.

Amused, he moved on to the green envelope. It smelled sweet, like candy. And when he opened it, a small paper fell out, resembling a business card. A distinctly familiar symbol graced the corner, and he wondered how an exile managed to get fan mail delivered to Seireitei. Then again, he should have known better than to question that man's abilities to do... well, anything.

"_This is an official invitation to join me for a beach getaway. I'll even make the tea. Smooches. Your Lovable Ki-kun!_"

It was the first letter he seriously considered, an interested smile on his face. "I do so love the ocean," he murmured, tucking that note into his main desk drawer for later perusal. "But only if I don't drink his tea. Seriously, they could use it as an industrial solvent."

Heart warmed by the invitation, Jyuushiro decided he would answer one last letter before penning a response to Ki-kun. He thought he might just take him up on his offer.

"_Senpai_," it began.

Jyuushiro smiled. He so rarely received anything from his kouhai. This was sure to be a real treat.

"_Thanks to a gross error in my subordinate's abilities to read – most specifically an address – I have received your letters for the past six months._" The words were positively chilly and filled with disdain, though not for Jyuushiro himself, and he lifted a brow. "_So I shall return them to you. Please, forgive Abarai-fukutaichou's sheer stupidity. The matter has since been handled, and I assure you it will not happen again. Most regrettably, Kuchiki Byakuya._"

Jyuushiro winced, not sure he wanted to know what had happened to poor Abarai-kun. And then, he furrowed his brow and brought the letter up to his nose. It indeed smelled faintly of cherry blossoms. Byakuya-kun must have been quite perturbed.

He set down the letter and glanced at the stacks of envelopes that remained, a thought occurring to him. Just how late were some of these letters? Like the friendly reminder of his doctor's appointment. Or the fact that his library books were late? Or… _gasp!_ Kisuke's invitation?

And then, he realized an even more disturbing trend. Most of his letters were from men. Did he have no female admirers? And where in that was _fan mail_? The closest he had come was the letter from Frilly-Brows with the blinding sparkles. Even then, it had been more interested in his hair.

Jyuushiro sighed.

Really, it wasn't fair at all.

And he was still bored.

* * *

a/n: Ah, I'm particularly fond of this one. Jyuushirou has such an amusing inner voice. Heh. Though it turned out more like a "Dear Jyuushirou" story than something with fan mail. I might have to do something with that hint towards UkitakexUrahara, too. Ah, decisions, decisions.

Hope you liked!


	107. Coming Out

**Title: Coming Out**

**Pairings/Characters: Ichigo/Yumichika, Renji, Rukia, Orihime, Ikkaku, Iba, Kenpachi**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crack like woah, some OOCness, boys kissing boys, debatable humor, language**

**Words: 4364**

**Description: Who knew coming out of the closet was this damn hard. **

**----**

The realization hadn't come on the end of a bolt of lightning or with the flash of a light bulb. He hadn't suddenly been hit with a burst of inspiration or anything simple like that. Nope. In fact, it had descended rather slowly, laboriously seeping into his thought processes until it bubbled up in front of him. In the middle of a math lesson no less.

He sat there, idly tapping his eraser on his paper and only half-listening to the teacher, when the thought crept into his head. It knocked before entering, asked politely to come inside and then tip-toed around, as though making sure it had a place before closing the door behind it. Then, sitting back in the easy-chair and propping up its feet, the thought proceeded to make its case.

And what a valid case it made. Ichigo couldn't refute any point that the thought made. Considering himself a male who was capable of making a decision and sticking with it, Ichigo finally conceded to agree with that thought.

So it was in the middle of math class that Ichigo came to his realization. And the thought became reality, became truth, forming residence in his brain.

He, Kurosaki Ichigo and substitute Shinigami, was gay. Or if not gay then at least very, very repressed when it came to women. He couldn't help it. They made him uncomfortable. Especially happily naked and forward women like Yoruichi and Matsumoto, who could just be clothed from head to foot their entire lives and he wouldn't shed a damn tear. Not a one.

Once the revelation had made its home, it quickly pointed out that it had a friend it was inviting over for dinner. This new thought reminded him that he hadn't had a date since... well, he'd never had a date. It seemed kind of _unimportant_ considering the whole fact that he had suddenly become a Shinigami, saved his newfound friend, and thrust himself into an entire war all without second thought. Therefore dating had been low on his priority list.

But Aizen had been quiet for some time. No doubt planning his next move. Everyone was training and practicing, gearing up for the battle to come. There wasn't much left to do but wait. Ichigo supposed he could take the time to find a date or two.

Or maybe he would begin with the more difficult task of telling his friends. Well, acquaintances really. It was too time-consuming to have friends.

A wadded up ball of paper chose that moment to fly by his nose and then promptly drop downwards to land on his desk. He looked down at it, glared, and then followed the trajectory back to Keigo. The other teen was giving him a big thumbs up and wiggling his eyebrows in the direction of Shizuka, the pretty girl on Ichigo's other side.

Keigo's aim was unimpressively off.

Curious, despite all his instincts that told him not to be, Ichigo unwound the crumpled ball to read it before passing it on. He sighed when he scanned the words and promptly tossed the wad to Shizuka.

"Do you like me?" the note had said. "Check one. Yes. No. Maybe. Signed, Keigo."

Ichigo could have sworn they got over that back in elementary school.

Perhaps it was better he didn't tell anyone at all.

Unfortunately, a funny little thing called Fate really had it out for him.

* * *

Not but five hours after his inner revelation, Renji found Ichigo training in Urahara's basement. While that wasn't unusual, the look of earnest and determination on the vice-captain's face was. It was clear that he wasn't there to spar and practice but for another reason entirely.

"Oi, Ichigo!"

In the middle of annihilating a boulder with Getsuga Tenshou, Ichigo followed through with the swing and then dropped to the ground. Balancing Zangetsu's weight on one shoulder, he wiped at the sweat on his brow.

The teenager scowled at the interruption. "What?"

Renji shot him an annoyed glare. "Don't give me that, bastard. I gotta talk ta ya about somethin'."

"Then make it quick. I've got stuff to do."

The vice-captain looked on the verge of retorting but then visibly restrained himself, a first if Ichigo ever saw one. "I was thinkin' the other day, and me and the guys agree. We want ya ta decide."

Ichigo blinked. "Decide? What the hell're you talking about?"

Shifting position, Renji gestured faintly. "Ya know. Ya need ta decide which one ya want so the rest of us can have a chance."

Confusion replaced the irritation, and Zangetsu returned to Ichigo's back. "What?"

"Rukia or Orihime, man!" Renji demanded and gestured wildly. "Pick one! Or one of the rest of your fan club. It doesn't matter so long as you choose."

"What are you talking about?" Ichigo demanded, remembering his realization of just a few hours earlier. "I don't want either of them."

The vice-captain immediately grew indignant on their behalf. "Why? Ya tryin' ta say there's somethin' wrong with them?" He bristled and drew up to his full height that, with the addition of his high ponytail, towered a good bit over Ichigo.

"No," Ichigo huffed. Clearly, his friend was not getting the point. "Just not... girls. _No_ girls," he emphasized.

"A'right. I follow you." Renji paused and thumbed his chin, face taking on a definite sheen of _thought_. Really, a first for him. "Ya want a woman. I think Unohana-taichou is single. And there's always Yoruichi-san."

Ichigo nearly choked on his own breath, the sudden urge to strangle rising up in him. "No!" he spluttered and forced himself not to reach for Renji's throat.

The redhead shrugged. "Well, I know it seems Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san have this thing goin' on, but they don't." He nodded sagely, as though privy to some private information that Ichigo wasn't. "I know, I lived there."

"You mean you freeloaded," Ichigo corrected with a look.

"Bah, whatever!" Renji waved a hand, thankfully not flying off the handle and attacking the teen. "Decide man, we're getting desperate here!"

A growl of frustration escaped from Ichigo's lips before he could stop it "I'm gay!" he announced, hoping that his bluntness would finally seep through Renji's skull.

The declaration echoed through the geta-boushi's training grounds, probably loud enough for Urahara to hear upstairs and snicker quietly to himself. On the verge of panting like a madman, Ichigo eyed Renji, wondering if he got it _now_.

Renji blinked. "That's all well and good, but that doesn't help us," he snapped, as if he were the one with the right to be angry. "Pick one!"

Working his jaw for several long moments, Ichigo finally whirled on his heels. "I give up!" he shouted and threw his hands into the air.

It was absolutely useless talking to Renji. He should have known that from the start. Ichigo ignored all other attempts by the redhead to speak with him and left to seek intelligent life. Perhaps in Hueco Mundo. At least Aizen seemed to have half a brain, even if he was evil incarnate.

* * *

The familiar sound of Rukia's Shinigami phone beeping filled the comfortable silence between them. It interrupted Rukia idly sipping on a juice box as she flipped through a magazine, still claiming research on the behavior of humans. Kon currently twitched beneath her left foot, murmurs of "Nee-san" bubbling up from the ground. Ichigo was in the midst of pretending to do his homework and contemplating how to tell her he was gay. And therefore wouldn't be falling in love with her no matter what Yuzu's manga said.

The device chirped again, reminding them that it wasn't prudent to ignore it, and Rukia snapped the magazine shut. She flipped open the phone, and sure enough, a Hollow's location was blinking on screen.

"Ichigo."

He shoved back from his desk. "Yeah, yeah. I know." One hand shifted to his pocket, reaching for his favorite method of soul expulsion.

Still sipping on her juice box, Rukia fished Kon out from under her foot. "Use this," she said, waving the stuffed lion about as though he were some prize to be won. "It's what he's there for."

Kon sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Help that idiot?" he complained, snubbing Ichigo. "I don't wanna."

Ichigo shared the same feeling for once. "But--"

He was treated to one of Rukia's favorite looks, which that plainly said "You are an idiot, and I have been a Shinigami for longer than you. And I know better, so you had best listen to me. Or I will make your life far more difficult than it already is."

He worked his jaw for several long moments before whirling on his heels, storming towards Kon. "Bitch," was muttered under his breath as he reached for the stuffed lion, Kon immediately dancing out of his reach.

"Nope!" the mod soul called out in a childish tone, laughing and feet squeaking as he bounced around the room.

He led Ichigo into a fine chase, the teenager considering accidentally leaving him in plain sight of Yuzu as punishment. It was Rukia's impatience that ended the impromptu chase. She pinned Kon down with a firm heel and in the same motion caused the gikongan to pop right out, rolling across the floor. Beneath her glare and tapping feet of annoyance, Ichigo snapped it off the floor, dusted it off on his shirt, and popped it into his mouth.

Then, there was the familiar and discomfiting feeling of his body splitting in two. Warmth heading one way. Chill heading another. The well-known weight of Zangetsu on his back always helped to quell the strange sensations.

In seconds, he was left blinking at his own body, Kon doing some strange dance to situate himself inside. He always succeeded in making Ichigo look like an idiot, which annoyed him to no end. But before he could even say anything, Rukia was out of her gigai and perched in the window, preparing to leap out. If he didn't follow quickly, he would have to hear it.

They left Kon behind, the two of them sprinting out of Ichigo's window and onto the nearest rooftop. From there, bursts of shunpo took them towards the Hollow's location. And upon arrival, Ichigo was disappointed to see that it was nothing that would take more than one swipe of his zanpakutou. He had been hoping for a challenge.

Drawing to a halt on a nearby rooftop, the familiar roar of the Hollow filling his ears, Ichigo frowned. His hand settled on Zangetsu's hilt. It hit him that now was the perfect moment to attempt to reveal his thought to Rukia. Nonchalance was best, after all.

He didn't want to startle Rukia. She didn't take surprises too well. Remembering being bathed in sprayed juice of all flavors was not a memory he liked to relish.

Beside him, Rukia snapped her cell shut. "That's not so bad looking," she said boredly, seeming as if she planned to return to her manga as soon as possible. "You should be able to get it with one hit."

He had thought the same thing himself.

Wait.

_He _should be able to get it with one hit?

"Me?" he repeated, forehead pinching. Something was wrong with that picture, he just knew it. "Why don't you get it for once?"

She looked at him. And the expression in her face clearly said, "Why should I be the one to lift a finger, when you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself?"

And because he'd rather defeat the Hollow in one swipe and return to his house rather than spend all night arguing on the roof of some random building with her, Ichigo sighed.

"Fine," he muttered, and from his position on the rooftop, he fired off a _Getsuga Tenshou_.

Which, in retrospect, was probably overkill. Still, it got the job done, and that was all that mattered. A quick scan of the area revealed that there were no more Hollows present.

"Too easy!" he declared, and turning back towards Rukia, he thumbed his nose. "And just so you know, I like guys."

How was _that_ for nonchalance?

She shrugged, flipping open her phone and obsessively scanning it again. "What do you want? Grimmjow?" Rukia asked flippantly and turned to head back towards the house, only to halt mid-step. "It's not like..." She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Wait. What?"

She was eying him with something that was suspiciously like sparkling eyes. Eyes that never spoke well for him, and he suddenly wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. Afraid for his life and possibly even his virtue, Ichigo backpedaled so quickly he nearly stepped right off the roof.

"Never mind," he said quickly and disappeared in a flit of shunpo before she could catch him.

Perhaps telling Rukia was not such a good idea after all. Yet another failure to add to the list.

* * *

Orihime cornered him after school before he could so much as escape from... well, everyone. She bounced up to his side with a sparkling smile and suggested that they walk home together, despite the fact that they lived in two entirely different directions. He knew that he _could_ say no, but then, she would get that disappointed look on her face, cover it up with a smile, only to make him feel like scum. So he saved himself the guilty conscience and agreed.

This meant that he actually ended up walking _her _home because Tatsuki would kick his ass if something happened to Orihime and he didn't prevent it. Which was an apt punishment because Shinigami or no, defeating Zaraki Kenpachi and all, Tatsuki could still take him down on a good day. And he wasn't in the mood for bruises. Especially not on his human body.

Ichigo was suddenly struck with the realization that he had somehow allowed all the females in his life to run roughshod over him. He didn't know when it had happened, or even how, but it was a trap he was no longer capable of escaping.

Beside him, Orihime hummed under her breath, in a pleasant mood as usual. "It's always nice to see everyone," she commented brightly, skipping in place.

"Yeah," he replied, idly wondering what Yuzu was making for dinner. And if he would even be able to eat it before a random Hollow attacked or Aizen decided he had been silent for too long.

Orihime shifted her books in her arms, from one side to the other. "I'm glad we could walk together," she added cheerfully, her steps a constant cadence alongside his.

He responded with some noncommittal noise.

She continued unabated, "Because, you know, there's something I've been wanting to tell you, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo abruptly ground to a halt, feeling a drop of sweat gather on his brow. He groaned internally.

'_Oh, Kami... no._'

He whirled to face her, nearly startling the poor girl in his haste. "Inoue, before you even start, I have to tell you something," he began, the suspicion that he already knew what she wanted to confess growing even stronger in him.

She blinked innocently up at him. "Whatever it is, I'll listen," Orihime promised with a hint of hope, grey eyes practically shining.

Ichigo took a deep breath. Looked at her. Prayed she didn't burst into tears.

"Look at me," he said. "I'm gay."

"I'm happy, too!" she exclaimed, and with a squeal reaching decibels previously unknown to man, she tried to hug him.

He neatly sidestepped with a skill normally used for evading the attack of some gruesome Hollow. Or Keigo. Or his father.

"No, no. I mean, I like boys."

"I do, too!" she countered, entirely unfazed. Her eyes grew big and round as though a new idea had suddenly struck her. "That's so great! Now, we have even more in common!"

Ichigo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting him nowhere. He needed an escape… and quickly.

Then, his pants vibrated. And he was struck with an idea.

"Right. Well, my badge is chirping. Have to go now. Bye!"

He was gone in a dash that Yoruichi would have been proud of and the closest thing to shunpo in a human body.

"Bye, Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime called out to him, waving happily with a big smile on her face as though she hadn't just tried to confess and failed miserably. "Let's talk about boys next time!"

If he could have moved any faster, he would have. He was only glad that he had managed to escape without being subjected to tears.

* * *

There they were, in the middle of a crowded no-name bar in one of the districts of Rukongai. A place that was a hefty mixture of safety and danger, which seemed to suit them just fine. Ichigo knew that before the night was through, one of his companions would be in a bar fight.

And then, everyone would be.

He had plans to sneak out long before that happened.

In any case, there they were. Bonding. Or so Ikkaku claimed when he dragged Ichigo along with him, forcing him out of training and into this. _Bonding_. Ichigo still couldn't figure out why it was so important that he attend, that he be there. With the self-proclaimed "thugs."

Or why Izuru was there, for that matter, since he couldn't look intimidating, even if he tried. His eyes gave him away. They just cried out for someone to save him. Though Ichigo had the sneaky suspicion that Izuru was probably the most vicious of the entire lot, outside of Yumichika. Who, by the way, couldn't be present for the meeting of the thugs because he was babysitting as Iba had explained.

The raucous noise of the bar washed over Ichigo, and he tuned it out as effectively as he did Rukia's nagging. The smells were not so easily ignored. A mix of alcohol and feet and very bad breath. Compound that with many sweaty bodies, and his nose had the sudden wish to lose its senses.

Ichigo toyed with his drink and looked over at his friends, contemplating the appearance of his recent Thought and wondering if it would do any good to say something now. But then, he caught sight of Renji, a failed attempt already. And he saw more of the same caliber.

Oh, maybe Shuuhei would get it. Yumichika would have definitely. Possibly even Izuru, if he weren't so drunk. They shouldn't have plied him with so much alcohol.

Correction. They were _still_ plying him with alcohol.

But as for the rest of the morons, Ichigo knew it wouldn't penetrate their thick skulls. It was like they had a filter for whatever wasn't breasts, food, fighting, or booze. And not necessarily in that order.

Even as he watched, Iba-san and Ikkaku were having a chopstick spar in the middle of the table. Ichigo didn't even know how they had gotten them since the bar they were in didn't serve any food beyond peanuts and pretzels.

Renji was trying to goad Izuru into having another drink… and succeeding, if the flush to Izuru's cheeks was any indication. And Shuuhei looked like he was pondering something devious and possibly pornographic as he eyed the busty waitress across the way. On second glance, she did bear suspicious resemblance to Matsumoto-san.

The horrors of unrequited lust, Ichigo supposed.

With a sigh, Ichigo reached for his orange juice. And oh, the indignity that produced. And kept his comments to himself.

No good coming out to these idiots.

* * *

A week after coming to the conclusion that he just didn't have any attraction to women, Ichigo was wandering around Soul Society. A man clinging to the end of his rope, he was considering drastic measures. _Ridiculously_ drastic measures.

He decided the next man he saw, he was going to kiss. It didn't matter who. Well, except perhaps Kenpachi. Or Renji. Or Ikkaku and Iba. Or that drunk-guy who was friends with Ukitake-san. Or that fat-guy from the second.

Nevertheless, he was going to kiss a man today. Just so long as everyone understood from that point on just what he had been trying to say for the past seven days. And hopefully, whoever it was wouldn't take great offense. Ichigo really wasn't in the mood to fight anyone.

Taking a breath, Ichigo gathered up his determination and walked around a random corner, eyes already scanning. Only to immediately turn around and pretend that a sudden bout of blindness had attacked him. He didn't see anyone. Not one person.

"Honestly, fool. What did I create you for?"

"Apologies, Mayuri-sama. I shall endeavor to not fail you again."

Ichigo quickly amended his "no kiss" list to include the freak from the twelfth.

And the teenager hid in the shadows, trying to curb the sense of nausea that attacked him, hoping that Kurotsuchi hadn't seen him. He wasn't that fucking desperate. When he said _anyone_, he meant anyone within reason.

He waited until the footsteps had long vanished, even going so far as to scan with his reiatsu. He was actually getting pretty good at it. Practice tended to do that. Not to mention the whole war with Aizen thing. It was sort of forcing him to work a bit harder.

Once he was certain Kurotsuchi was long gone, Ichigo steeled himself for another try. Alright, for real this time. He meant it. Whoever he saw. As long as it wasn't Kurotsuchi. Or all those other people.

Squaring his shoulders, Ichigo stepped into the path and turned the corner. Before he could even scan the corridor he ran smack dab into Ikkaku. Literally. Their heads struck with a resounding and rather painful bang, sending both Shinigami a few steps backwards.

Rubbing his forehead where he was certain a red mark would be appearing soon, Ichigo peered out through one eye and happened to catch sight of the bald Shinigami's companion. Yumichika, the first one he actually saw. Not a bad choice at all. One he could live with.

Yumichika sighed. "Honestly, Ikkaku," he said, shaking his head. "You should watch-- Mmph."

Mmph, indeed.

The fifth-seat didn't have a chance to continue his reprimand because Ichigo was kissing him, hands curled around his – ahem - _beautiful _face. And he had to admit to himself that he liked it, this kissing boys thing. He'd have to do it more often.

Ending the pretty much chaste kiss, Ichigo pulled back with a sense of smug satisfaction. "There," he stated in accomplishment. "That should..."

His words trailed off when he realized that Yumichika was looking at him slyly. And then a smile appeared, slow and predatory. Hands, calloused from sword work despite repeated attempts at moisturizing, grabbed his shihakushou and jerking him forward for another kiss. This one was deeper and much, much steamier.

"Whoa!"

Ichigo vaguely heard Ikkaku's sound of surprise from somewhere beyond the lips pressed against his and the faint floral scent that seemed to surround Yumichika.

"Don't ya think ya should get a room?"

The two easily ignored the man, who eventually cursed and wandered away, only to run into his captain.

"Tch," Kenpachi commented with a snort. "I fuckin' knew it."

And then, they were drawing a crowd.

Somewhere beyond them, Iba gasped. "No way!" he said, adjusting his sunglasses just in case the dim shade was making him see guys kissing guys _again_. "Who knew?"

The eleventh division captain held up a hand. "I fuckin' knew it," he repeated for the benefit of the new arrivals.

"What the hell?" Renji demanded and backpedaled several steps in his surprise.

"Why didn't you just say something, dammit?" Rukia added, hands on her hips in a very annoyed fashion.

Apparently, this was a very popular road for the Shinigami.

Off to the right, there was a pout of disappointment. "Well, that explains why you didn't want to see my breasts," Matsumoto murmured, looking down at her envy-worthy and ample assets. She gave them a little bounce.

Nearby, noses spurted blood. Most notably Ikkaku and Renji.

She grinned. "Still got it."

Hitsugaya eyed his relentless vice-captain with some measure of annoyance, that tic over his left eye getting worse and worse. "You mean that wasn't your first clue?" he muttered and rolled his eyes.

"Waiii!" Matsumoto threw her arms around her captain and promptly smothered him in her chest. "Taichou still loves me."

"Urk."

Ignoring the usual song and dance between the leaders of the tenth division, attention was returned to the pair. Who were still kissing.

Ikkaku scratched his chin and tipped his head to the side. "They're still goin'," he commented with a touch of awe. "I sorta thought people needed to breathe."

"How naïve of you," Matsumoto answered with a devious chuckle, finally releasing her captain from her death hold.

He promptly sucked in several breaths. "I'm going to be so gay," Toushirou wheezed and wondered if it was still too late to switch vice-captains. He heard that Ukitake still needed one.

With another grunt, Kenpachi turned away, Yachiru kicking happily on his shoulder. Ikkaku followed his captain's exit with a confused expression.

"Where ya goin, taichou?"

Kenpachi waved a hand of dismissal. "Ain't got no interest in watchin' a pair of love birds go at it."

His words seemed to urge the others into action. With a final glance towards the still kissing pair, they gathered crowd began to slowly disperse.

Only when the last person passed and they were alone again did the kiss stop, leaving both slightly breathless. There was an attractive flush high on Yumichika's cheeks whereas Ichigo looked somewhat dazed.

"Well," the fifth-seat said with a pretty sparkle, smiling up at the substitute Shinigami. "You should have said something earlier."

For his part, Ichigo showed remarkable restraint in not strangling his newfound boyfriend.

* * *

AN: *flails wildly* Well, it started out awesome. And then I lost steam. And then it dissolved into unadulterated crack with ooc-ness everywhere. Sorry. Still, I hope you found it amusing! I know I still do.

Lots more requests coming out. Keep an eye out!


	108. All the Same

**Title: All the Same****Characters: Ichigo/Grimmjow (if you squint), Renji****  
Rating: T (for language and blood)  
Warning: Spoilers. Massive spoilers. Up to the current arc in the manga.  
Words: 3,478  
Description: Companion to **_**A Thin, Red Line**_** and **_**Quiet Destruction**_**. He can't explain it; he doesn't even bother to try. Ichigo just knows this is something he has to do.  
Inspiration: Sick Puppies, "All the Same"  
Dedication: To Vicious-Loner, my partner in crime for this pairing**

* * *

"_Go ahead tell me you'll leave again. You'll just come back running. Holding your scarred heart in hand. It's all the same." _

_Sick Puppies, All the Same._

* * *

He ignores the sound of feet chasing after him, the sharp press of his breath in his lungs and the stench of destruction and death around him.

"Ichigo!"

"Shut the fuck up, Renji!" he snarls, throwing the words over his shoulder as he flashes forward in another burst of shunpo and lands on the ruins of a shattered tower.

He crouches down and scans the waving hills of white sand in front of him. Above him, the sky is black in some places. In others, a fake blue to mimic that of the living world. Or even Seireitei. And below him, a shattered Las Noches is his only vista.

There is a thud, and Renji lands beside him, a little out of breath, sweat on his brow. "Dammit," he gasps with hands on his knees. "What the hell do ya think yer goin' to find here, Ichigo? There's nothin' left!"

Ichigo twists his jaw, refusing to answer what he has already answered several times over. Renji doesn't understand. Rukia doesn't understand. None of them do. They hadn't understood before, and they aren't going to understand now. Ichigo has stopped bothering to try explain himself.

On his back, Zangetsu thrums uneasily. Ichigo tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrates on the ossan and the further hum of Shirosaki.

_'Feel anything?' _

There is something akin to a mental shake of the head. _'No, Ichigo. Nothing.' _

_'Well, keep looking,' _he nearly snarls at another form of himself. _'I know that bastard isn't dead. He's too stubborn to die.' _

There is the sound of laughter, Shirosaki mocking him. _'Stupid king, ya should listen to that damn tattooed idiot for once. There ain't nothin' __**here**_**.**' He has an image of a white sneer, and that echoing voice seems to taunt him.

Ichigo doesn't bother to respond to the Hollow either. His instincts have always served him well, and he's sure this time. Grimmjow is not dead.

He doesn't know what has driven him to find the fallen Espada or why he feels he has to return to this scene, weeks later. Logic dictates that even if Grimmjow were alive, he would be far away from the ruins of his lord's failed attempt at becoming god. Rationality believes firmly that Grimmjow is dead, that Nnoitra's final blow killed him. Or if he survived that, then bleeding out surely did so afterwards.

But Ichigo has never been the type to bow down to logic or rationality. He has always crashed against it headfirst, butting into impossible and making it victory. And he knows that he's going to find Grimmjow or die trying. With or without the help of the Shinigami. In fact, preferably without. After all, he doesn't know what they would try to do to a former Espada.

"Ichigo." A hand settles on his shoulder, and Ichigo roughly shakes it off.

He whips his head to the side, fixing Renji with a glare firm enough that Byakuya would be proud. "Leave it alone, Renji," he growls, muscles bunching in preparation for another great leap. "I'm doing this whether you like it or not."

Renji is unmoved by his determination, showing his usual idiotic resolve. He isn't intimidated by the flaring of Ichigo's reiatsu as it whips at his skin. He doesn't even flinch, the brave bastard. And for a single moment, Ichigo remarks that he really is a good friend to follow him to the edges of hell for a reason that not even Ichigo completely understands.

"Fine," Renji spits, squaring his jaw with eyes flashing. "Then, at least lemme help ya before ya kill yerself searching empty miles of fuckin' nothin'."

"I don't need your help," Ichigo mutters and leaps down to the ground. And then, he is racing across the sand, trying to look for something that's familiar. Anything that will remind him of where that battle had taken place.

He thinks that if he could just find something. The signature of Grimmjow's reiatsu. Even a clue as to the Arrancar's location would satisfy him. From there he could track it. Find something more than the unanswered questions that linger in the back of his mind.

He hears footsteps speeding across the sand behind him and knows that Renji is following. He can't shake off the stubborn asshole unless he slips into bankai, and Ichigo doesn't want to waste his energy to do that. He is only glad that Rukia hasn't caught wind of this. Otherwise, she would be out here and chasing him, too.

Resolving to simply ignore Renji, Ichigo fixes his gaze firmly forward. But dammit, every tattered and crumpled building looks the same. Every hill of white sand. Every faint splash of blood, not faded even after all this time. And his memory has never been the best either. Especially not when he is trying to recall things through a haze of battle and pain and blood and fighting to just plain survive.

_'Ichigo._' Zangetsu's voice is quiet on the edge of his mind, almost hesitant. As though he doesn't want to reveal whatever new information he has discovered._ 'I think that Renji may be right. There is nothing living here.'_

"You don't know for sure," Ichigo growls aloud, not caring that Renji is shooting him a strange look from the sound.

The war has been over for months now. All that is left is the ashes of a fierce battle, the echoes of it still present in the debris that litters Karakura. Which the general public still hasn't been able to explain away.

It had been brutal and vicious, dark enough to haunt Ichigo's dreams. He can only remember fighting, breathing blood, rising to his feet again and again. He sees himself fighting Ulquiorra over and over in his dreams. Sometimes, he still wins; sometimes, he loses. And yet, in the back of his mind, Grimmjow has always hovered. And he has always wondered what happened to the sixth Espada who is just like him and yet so different.

He regrets that he hasn't been able to come sooner than now. He wonders what he will find. If he even finds anything at all.

A black and red blur appears in front of him, and Ichigo screeches to a halt to avoid crashing into it. He steps out of shunpo and glowers at the body forcefully standing in his path. Unexpectedly, it is Renji. He takes a step forward with the intention of beating his friend to a pulp when his knee gives out beneath him, and he nearly crumples to the ground. It takes all his effort to remain standing, but that one moment of weakness is all it takes for a look of triumph to appear over Renji's face.

Only then does Ichigo feel it. The muscles that are straining, pulsing and pounding with the force of effort he has ruthlessly coerced them to output. His body is covered in a sweat that makes him shiver, and he is shaking, though he isn't sure why. His reiatsu is a wild and rippling thing, barely held back by the threads of his control. Ichigo has the distinct fear that he may be losing his mind.

What is this desperation?

"See," Renji practically sneers at him. "Yer actin' crazy, Ichigo. Why do ya care so much about an Espada? And especially him. He tried ta kill ya! And Rukia, too!"

"I don't know," Ichigo gasps, wishing he could have screamed it, but his body is rebelling now, and it takes effort to breathe. He folds over, putting his hands on his knees. "I really don't know."

He just feels that he can't just let Grimmjow die, fade away into nonexistence. There's something alike in them, something that only they can understand, and Ichigo has been desperately searching for that. He has his friends and his family. He has those he cares for. But no one _gets _him, understands him. And by kami, is it so fucking wrong that he wants that?

He has more friends than he knows what to do with. More people to look out for, to protect and watch over. But the loneliness is still there. It's still pressing inside of him, and he doesn't really understand that. He still wants to _know_, just what it is that binds them together. And he fears that if Grimmjow is dead, he'll never understand. That the gnawing confusion that has been gripping him will only get worse until he goes mad from it.

_'King_,' Shirosaki begins, and there is a hint of a cackle in his tone. '_Ya damn persistent bastard. Ya did it.' _

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Ichigo demands aloud, too tired to concentrate on speaking inside his own head. "I don't feel anyth--" His words cut off as it hits him then, just a dull buzz on the edge of his senses.

Renji feels it too because he suddenly straightens, and his hand drops to the hilt of Zabimaru, body slipping into an attack stance. It is reiatsu, weak but with the hint of having been strong at some point. It is tired and pained. But filled with determination. And most importantly, it is heading their way.

Drawing himself up straight, as much as his aching body agrees to do, Ichigo wraps his fingers around Zangetsu's hilt. The hair on the back of his neck rises, and he turns, whipping his zanpakutou from his back in one smooth motion. The sharp sound of metal striking metal fills the emptiness of the shattered Las Noches, and Ichigo's eyes widen impossibly large. Behind him, Renji sucks in a surprised breath, for once absolutely mute.

"Never thought I'd ever see ya again," a specter with blue hair cackles at him, grinning madly behind the silver length of his blade. "Thought ya woulda left with the other Shinigami trash."

Ichigo grits his teeth and pushes back against the force being directed towards him. The metal of their blades shriek as they scrape but hold steady.

"How the fuck are you alive?" he demands, even as his eyes rake up and down Grimmjow's frame.

He isn't sure he wants to call what he sees before him alive. Grimmjow looks no better now than he did when Ichigo left him laying there more than two weeks ago. His clothes are tattered and worn, though he has made some effort to pull them together, and where he has gathered the semblance of a cloak, Ichigo isn't sure. His body is covered in a myriad of bruises in varied states of discoloration, and Ichigo can see every wound that mars Grimmjow's frame. Some are caked over. Some are healed, and some look as if they tried to heal but gave up and lingered somewhere between sealed and the unhealthy tint of impeding infection.

"Takes a lot more than that shit ta kill me." Grimmjow sneers and then surges forward, trying to throw Ichigo off balance.

Ichigo twists out of the trap of blade on blade and swings Zangetsu around, only to meet with Grimmjow's katana again. They trade several blows, each one more jarring than the last, and for the first time in several weeks, Ichigo feels the excitement rising again. Even with his body trying to pull him down to the floor, and the smell of blood fresh in the air, he can feel it.

Behind him, he feels Renji's reiatsu spike, and he is surprised because for a moment he has completely forgotten Renji is even there. His world has already narrowed to this duel, he and Grimmjow, one on one. Ichigo just knows that Renji plans on joining the battle. That what Renji sees, he interprets as a threat. And that's not the truth at all. Besides, even if he is tired as all fuck, Ichigo doesn't need any help. This battle is his and his alone.

"Stay the fuck out of it, Renji!" Ichigo screams, raising his tired arms against the Espada's onslaught. He knows that he sounds like a madman.

Grimmjow smirks, as though pleased by Ichigo's command. "Ya said it didn't ya, Kurosaki," the Arrancar rasps, and their blades scrape together. Ichigo in shikai, Grimmjow's sword naked. "Anytime I wanted, you would fight me as many times as it took."

He grits his death. "You're half-dead," Ichigo growls, feeling sweat gather on his brow as his feet scrape across the sand. "It's no fun defeating an Espada who's barely standing."

Blue eyes darken but in challenge. "We'll see who's half-dead." Grimmjow sneers and then grunts, forcing himself forward and driving Ichigo a step backwards. His foot threatens to turn on a half-buried piece of debris, but he keeps his stance. He will not fall here.

He sees in Grimmjow's eyes a mixture of emotions. Determination and a wildness that explains his mad rush into battle, despite his condition. And even deeper still, the same loneliness that had captured Ichigo's attention in their last fight.

Ichigo digs his waraji into the sand, grits his teeth, and presses Zangetsu forward. They trade blows for several long moments, and Grimmjow is the one to stumble. Ichigo takes his advantage and swings Zangetsu at the last moment altering his blow so that the flat of his blade smacks Grimmjow in the chest rather than the sharp edge.

The Arrancar is driven backwards by several steps, gasping for breath as his fingers spasm around his zanpakutou. He hisses a curse, face twisting into a scowl that he directs at Ichigo. But before Grimmjow can even begin to initiate another attack, he doubles over and spits up a glob of sticky but bright blood to the ground. And Ichigo sees it then, the red seeping through the makeshift array of cloth that he has wrapped around his frame.

The damn stubborn bastard. He fights even when he can barely stand, can barely breathe and bleeding all over the place. Why does that sound familiar?

He is still injured but also still clinging to his life. Yet, the light is dying from his eyes. Another few days, Ichigo knows he would have only found a corpse. Sheer willpower alone has kept him alive this long. Willpower and maybe a bit of something else as well.

"What do you think you're doing, idiot?" Ichigo demands as Grimmjow wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and spits to the side. "Attacking me when you look like that?"

Blue eyes glower at him and at what he perceives to be pity. "And what does it matter to you, brat? Or can't ya beat me? Even like this?" He draws himself up straight laboriously, curling his fingers even tighter around his zanpakutou. Blood seeps from his wounds, and Ichigo can't help but watch it drip to the ground.

Ichigo squares his jaw, determined not to be goaded into this battle. "You're just looking for death, Grimmjow," he returns, just wanting Grimmjow to_**stop**_ because he doesn't want the Arrancar to die. "The easy way out because you don't want to die anyplace but battle. Which is still pretty fucking cowardly."

Rage lights those eyes, and then, Grimmjow is forcing his battered body forwards, raising his cracked – Ichigo just notices this – blade upwards. Before he can move more than two steps, however, his entire body locks up, arms clamped to the sides. The zanpakutou slides from his fingers, slipping to the ground.

A growl of frustration emerges from Grimmjow's lips, a look of almost betrayal, and then, Renji's hilt slams into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. He slumps to the ground in a graceless heap.

Wide eyes regard Renji with half-confusion and half-wonder. A part of Ichigo is angry that Renji interfered, another part of him is glad that Renji did. And then, he wonders if the redhead plans on killing the Espada next. But the man does nothing, just stands there and stares at Grimmjow's prone form.

Ichigo himself is still panting for breath. He finally forces his fingers to uncurl from Zangetsu's hilt and reattaches his zanpakutou to his back. He looks down at Grimmjow and wonders.

'_What the hell am I going to do now?' _

Sure, he has entered Hueco Mundo with the sheer intention of finding Grimmjow, but Ichigo never thought much past that. Just what is he going to do _now_?

"Well," Renji drawls and folds his arms over his chest, lifting his eyes to Ichigo. "Now _what_?"

Ichigo shrugs. "You're the one that knocked him out," he feels that it is important to point this out, as though it should be Renji's answer that is necessary.

"And yer the one who took off without a word into Hueco Mundo," Renji counters, a hint of irritation filling his tone.

"And _you_ followed me," Ichigo shoots back accusingly.

But really, them arguing over the unconscious Espada is doing no good. Grimmjow could wake up at any moment, and Ichigo knows, he'll wake in a mood to fight again. It doesn't matter how beaten and bloody Grimmjow is, he will not simply lie down. Ichigo knows this as sure as he knows he would do the very same thing.

Ichigo releases a ragged sigh and rakes his palm down his face. Just what the hell does he think he's going to do? It's obvious Grimmjow needs medical attention, as well as a place to stay. He can't take the Arrancar home with him, and he doubts anyone in Seireitei would give a damn. The Vizard might, if he actually knew where to find them. That only left...

"Urahara," Ichigo says in a firm tone, his choice making more and more sense with every passing moment. "We'll take him to Urahara."

He doesn't know where else to go. Ichigo only knows that he has to save Grimmjow, to understand what this is. This unnamable something that makes no sense. He knows that he can't let the Espada die.

Renji nods to agree with him, and Ichigo wonders if he can really trust the man. But then, it is also too late now. If Renji had planned to kill Grimmjow, he would've already done it. He wouldn't have bothered knocking him out or asking Ichigo what he planned to do.

"Sounds like a plan."

Ichigo watches him carefully. "You're going to help me?"

The Shinigami shrugs, already kneeling to grab Grimmjow's shoulders – not too gently, Ichigo notices – and prop him up into an easier position. When he does, several wounds start seeping blood more profusely, and Renji curses under his breath, reaching for the tattered remnants of Grimmjow's cloak to wrap around the injuries.

"I don't understand it," Renji answers as Ichigo kneels to help, energized by the success of his mad pursuit and fully able to ignore the protests of his body. "And I think I'm crazy myself fer helpin' ya, but I'll do it, Ichigo."

The Vizard's fingers flutter against Grimmjow's throat, and there is a heartbeat at the tip of them, frantic and worried beneath his touch, but there all the same. Grimmjow will survive, but only if he can get him some medical aid. He wonders if he can get the Espada on his back all alone, to send Renji for Orihime to meet them at the Urahara Shouten. Or if he should just let Tessai take care of it.

"Why?"

Renji shrugs, tightening one of the makeshift bandages with a bit more force than necessary. "Because," he responds gruffly, giving no explanation whatsoever.

It is an answer Ichigo will accept however, since he doesn't want to stand here and argue reasoning with Renji. He knows that the other man never bothers with subtlety or hidden agendas. Renji isn't the type to help him with other motives. He'll just do it because, and that's the only reason he needs.

Ichigo looks down at Grimmjow, at the beaten and nearly destroyed Arrancar he has become. And yet, he doesn't feel that Grimmjow has been defeated in the slightest. He feels that the moment Grimmjow awakens, he'll fight again, even if his body can't take it. He knows because he would do the same thing.

So here he is, heaving Grimmjow up between Renji and him and carting him off to Urahara-san's, where he'll hope the shopkeeper will be willing to heal him. Possibly even house him for a short duration. Ichigo still isn't sure why he's doing this. Why he's risking everything, even himself, for this Arrancar. He just knows he has to. The why at this moment isn't even that important. Or that he'll find the answer eventually. He always did before.

All that matters to him right is that he knows what he's doing. And that's saving Grimmjow, just like he should have done all those weeks ago.

* * *

a/n: Ah, this pairing has taken me over. Why, oh why do I keep writing it? And what's worse, there's a fourth installment in the future, with a fifth likely to join it. I don't understand. I never even liked this pairing before.

Oh well. What's done is done. I do hope you like it!


	109. Before the Dawn

a/n: Omigosh! A het pairing. Yes, you read right. Enjoy!

**Title: Before the Dawn**

**Pairings/Characters: Jyuushiro/Yoruichi**

**Rating: T (for implied sex?)**

**Warning: Slip into het here, no spoilers**

**Words: 1,901**

**Description: Jyuushiro supposes he has always been a foolish man. **

**Dedication: For my beta, Azar, who requested this pairing way back when.**

* * *

He traces his fingers down her bare back, feeling few scars beneath his touch. She is too skilled, too quick. There are few enemies that could manage to catch her, and even then, it must be purely because of their luck.

Her skin is warm to him. Soft. _Beautiful. _

With a smile on his lips, Jyuushiro brushes long strands of purplish hair from where it fans across her back. He leans forward, balancing his weight on the elbow tucked beneath him, and presses a kiss to her shoulder over a freckle that is now so familiar to him. She smells like war, steel and blood and smoke. But also something feminine and soft, like lilacs or sakura.

His lover stirs at the gentle press and shifts onto her side to give him a sleepy, smug smile. "I was sleeping, you know," Yoruichi murmurs silkily, settling comfortably onto one elbow. As always, she is completely at ease in her nudity, body stretched out for his eyes without a single covering.

"Liar," Jyuushiro accuses as he admires the flicker of light over her features. Her brown skin is such an allure, a rich color that he has always enjoyed.

Yoruichi reaches out, tugging gently on a few loose strands of white hair that hang beside his face. "Only a little," she responds and gives another pull, guiding his mouth down to cover hers. Golden eyes sparkle as they draw closer.

He goes all too willingly, eagerly even. Yoruichi's mouth is warm with his, breath washing over and through him. He licks across her lips, her tongue touching his teasingly and then deeper still.

Jyuushiro loses himself in her taste, in her fire. In her lust for life and her sense of absolute freedom. Yoruichi is the wind, traveling where she pleases with no cage to hold her down. She is young, and she is beautiful. And she is probably also more than he deserves with his frail body and bad luck.

He loves her; Jyuushiro is sure of this. But it is something he will never say aloud, will never share with her. He has never voiced his feelings, put them into words that could be spoken. He fears that if he did, she would run, would flee from them. So he keeps his feelings where they are safe, even if he suspects she might even know.

Yoruichi's lips drop away from his, drawing into a familiar smile. "Would you have believed this a decade ago?" she asks, falling back against the thick mattress and pulling him down on top of her.

He sinks willingly onto the comfort of her flesh and presses his nose into her throat, laying a kiss on her collarbone. "Not in even a century." He pauses to chuckle, mind recalling for him certain instances. "Of course, then you were just a loud-mouthed brat."

One of her arms circle around him, fingers tangling in his hair and playing with it, not unlike a cat in idle amusement. "Well, aren't you just the cradle-robber?"

"And you are hardly a child."

Jyuushiro slides his hand down her side, tracing every curve. She is so sleek and smooth, nearly unblemished. She shifts to accommodate his touch, languid and inviting. It is a lazy warmth between them, sated and comfortable. Familiar. He cherishes every moment of it because he knows it won't be long before she is gone again, just like the wind and its brief visits.

She hums in her throat, and he can feel it against his nose. "I didn't think you would ever notice me," Yoruichi comments off-handedly.

And somehow, they have slipped into reminiscence. Perhaps there is something in the air that drives them. The soft scent of sakura drifting in from his open window. Or the flickering lights that illuminate the room. Or even the knowledge that her visit is only brief, as always. And that technically, it is probably not a good idea for her to be in Seireitei.

His breath is a warm puff against her flesh. "How could I not?" he asks, voice somewhat muffled by his position, and he turns his head to the side. "You were the loveliest woman I had ever seen."

"Were?" He can practically see her arch one brow.

"Fishing for compliments, my dear?" His fingertips trace a nonsensical path down her flesh, and he swears he can feel the strength of her reiatsu beneath his touch. Simmering beneath the surface, always out of the reach of his own.

"Completely unnecessary."

Jyuushiro laughs and is glad that a wheeze doesn't accompany the sound. The last thing he needs is for his illness to ruin the moment.

"Precisely. Especially since you still are the loveliest creature I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"Jyuu, have you been taking lessons from Shunsui again?"

He is glad she cannot see the smile on his face. "I learn from the best."

She shakes her head, and he imagines she is rolling her eyes. "You always were a stubborn man. Then and now."

"I imagine it is one of my strong suits," he replies and rises up to his elbows so that he can meet her eyes. "Or at least, so I am told."

Her fingers curl around his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "They must have been lying to save you the embarrassment," she murmurs, but it is without any heat as she rises to meet him again, her kiss soft and strangely poignant.

Jyuushiro nips gently at her lips, memorizing the taste of her mouth. Always so fleeting. But he doesn't think he could possibly forget either.

Again, she ends the kiss. And this time, her eyes flicker to the window. The harsh inkiness of night is fading away with an oncoming blue glow, hinted by streams of pink. Dawn approaches, stealing upon them as quietly as always.

"I know what that look means," he comments, hiding his disappointment with a skill he has cultivated over the years. Somehow, he has deluded himself into believing this is enough so long as he has her touch every so often to remind him of what she is like.

Her eyelids lower, something flashing briefly in golden irises. "The sun _is_ rising."

Smiling, even if it is a tad fake, Jyuushiro gently moves aside, giving her room to slip out from beneath him. She rises to her feet in all her nude glory, hair a dark stream down her back. He remembers running his hands through it earlier, enjoying the silky texture. Jyuushiro feels an urge to ask her to stay, just as he has considered all those times before. He has never voiced it then; he knows that he won't voice it now.

The lights play delicate shadows across her skin.

"What do you think will happen," he asks all of the sudden and before he can stop himself and rationality, "if they find you here? Do you truly believe that they will punish you?"

Her features soften, turning introspective. "I honestly don't know," Yoruichi answers, a few short strides taking her to the window. "I haven't thought to test it."

She lifts herself up into the frame, settling lightly against it as her hair falls over one shoulder. Anyone looking would be able to see her, but Jyuushiro knows it is too early for others to be about. And these are his private quarters. No one will venture near.

Yoruichi tips her head to the side, watching him with an indefinable something glinting in her eyes. "Do you miss me when I'm gone?"

"Always," he replies, and it is more honest than he meant it to be. Perhaps a bit too fierce, and he wishes he hasn't betrayed himself with that admission.

She looks at him, and he isn't sure what she sees. A man on the edge of his life perhaps. A captain of the Gotei 13. Her lover. Her friend. He wishes he knew.

She swings her legs once, like a child perched playfully on a fence. "I miss you, too," Yoruichi finally responds.

And then, her body shimmers, shrinking down into her familiar form of a black cat. She watches him another moment more and then leaps down from her perch, leaving him with the silence and solitude of his bedroom. Much in the same way she had appeared.

Sighing to himself, his mind thrumming with what she has revealed to him, Jyuushiro rises to his feet and flicks off the few lights he has on, bathing the room in complete darkness. He leaves the window open, for nostalgia perhaps. Or maybe it's just because the wind blowing in is so pleasant.

He returns to his bed, which feels a bit colder now, and crawls beneath the covers. It is as lonely as it has ever been, and he asks himself why he doesn't just try to move on. To find someone who gives a thought of more permanence. Why does he try to cling to an evanescent wind?

Jyuushiro supposes he has always been a foolish man.

He watches the dawn creep into the sky, attacked by insomnia that keeps his mind and body awake when he should be sleeping. It has always amazed him how quickly daylight descends. Night is almost completely gone by now, several shades of blue replacing the darkness.

On the edge of his senses, there is a purring reiatsu, very familiar. And a cat appears in his window, walking in as though it knows it belongs there. Jyuushiro blinks, thinking that maybe he has fallen asleep and this is nothing more than a dream. Before his eyes, Yoruichi takes form once more, her expression unreadable as she crawls into bed beside him, skin a bit chilly against his.

"You--"

She shushes him with a kiss, one that he can't exactly protest against. Not that Jyuushiro would. He thinks that if this _is_ a dream, it's a damn good one. And he doesn't mind it one bit.

She pulls away, and she must have read the confusion in his dark eyes because she laughs. "I'm thinking it might be fun to elude Seireitei's best, don't you?" Yoruichi responds, curling up close to him. "Besides, cats are supposed to sleep in."

Jyuushiro is speechless, but that doesn't seem to bother her. He can feel her breathing even as she leans her head on his shoulder, palm pressing flat against his bare chest.

"Should I have not come?"

In answer, he slides his arm around her, tugging her closer to his body. "Never ask that again," he replies and isn't sure if he means her most recent question or the one she had asked before. About missing her.

His reiatsu rises, and for the first time, he feels the answering press of hers. Tendrils of it slide into the room, teasing playfully at the seeking curls of his before meeting gently. Entwining.

And silence falls between them, words nothing necessary at the moment. Jyuushiro doesn't need them. She is enough. He closes his eyes, savors the warmth and the presence and the feeling of not-alone.

He thinks that there is a benefit to being stubborn and to being foolish. That eventually luck might prove to be on his side.

And Jyuushiro is infinitely glad that this dawn does not find him alone.

* * *

a/n: I was in the mood for fluff. Can you tell? Awww. I don't write het much, but if I do, I try to make it something I -- at least -- like. And I couldn't resist this pairing when my beta requested it. She said, write Ukitake and Yoruichi together. But make it serious, with the possibility of a future. And so I give her this. I'm rather fond of it.

Hope you enjoyed!


	110. Stray

**Title: Stray**

**Pairings/Characters: Shunsui/Gin**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Slight spoilers**

**Words: 701**

**Description: Shunsui is very familiar with love. But heartbreak… that one is a rather new concept.**

**AN: And yes, I know that this isn't Gin's eye color in the anime. It is, however, his eye color in the manga. So sue me.**

* * *

He always wondered how no one ever saw it.

It was there, plain for anyone with eyes, anyone who cared to look. And maybe that was the problem. No one cared. No one looked. No one noticed. No one but him. And Shunsui had never been the type to ignore what he had seen, to pretend he hadn't. He had noticed, and he had acted.

He had reached out his hand with the intention of helping, forming a figure that the boy was obviously in desperate need of. He thought to be a father to him, to give him a sense of family. To provide a stable – not necessarily sober but still stable – presence in his life.

What he had gotten was the opposite.

Shunsui still wasn't sure how it happened. How Ichimaru Gin had made a home in his bed and then never left. He didn't mind it, not now. He didn't want the boy to leave. But he wondered how he had gone from fathering him to... well, doing the opposite of what a father should do to any child. Certainly, Yama-jii had never treated Jyuu and him like this.

Well, perhaps his initial intuition had been a little off. Perhaps Gin had not needed a father specifically but just someone. A friend. A lover. And that was what Shunsui had become without really knowing how or why.

It was common knowledge that Shunsui loved women. Their shape and their smell. Their laughter and their gentle curves, the softness of their skin. He loved their compassion and their inner strength; he loved the sound of their voices. So dulcet and smooth. He loved the way they slid against him, curled within his arms. How they fit.

They were nothing like Gin, all angular and thin. Long limbs that always seemed to be everywhere, and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. They were hard as steel but still soft, while Gin was just hard. He was muscle clamped to a lithe frame.

But Gin was beautiful in his own way that was completely unlike a woman and yet still attractive to Shunsui. His hair was such an odd shade of silver, and it was satiny, always sliding through Shunsui's fingers. It was something that Gin loved, for Shunsui to trail fingers through his hair right before he fell asleep.

His eyes, when Gin dared open them, were a beautiful shade of pale blue. Like the sky in winter over a snowcapped landscape. Or just before night fell and twilight descended.

Shunsui couldn't recall now even if asked how many nights Gin had spent in his bed, curled up next to him. The boy was always so cold. Understandable considering his thin frame. And he would always steal Shunsui's blankets and body heat. Even after he made captain, that hadn't changed.

He remembered Gin being so familiar in his bed, and then, there was no one else. It was just Gin. Silver hair and pale skin and blue, blue eyes. And a rare, true smile for him and him alone. He recalled a boy he had thought he was perhaps falling in love with. And maybe, one day, his feelings would be returned.

He had never even realized what was going on. That while he had held out his hand to Gin, he had been just a tad too late. That someone had taken Gin's hand first. And that someone had taken Gin from him.

Shunsui watched Gin rise into the sky, at Aizen's side, but not for one moment did he feel any regret. Only sadness. He was a little proud that Gin was no longer alone, even if he had become a traitor.

And if, when he turned over in his bed and no elbow jabbed him in the side, Shunsui was lonely… well, no one knew. Not even his dearest Jyuu-chan. This, this _thing_ – relationship – he had with Gin was something kept private. Something that for once only belonged to him; he didn't share. Not this. Not Gin.

And apparently, neither did Aizen.

This was his pain. This was his secret. This was his heartbreak. His and his alone.

* * *

a/n: For so long, I've wanted to write something with this pairing. I don't know why. And then, one day, I finally got the inspiration. So this is a personal favorite of mine. I do hope you liked this odd pairing.


	111. Sooner or Later

**Title: Sooner or Later**

**Pairings: Shuuhei/Izuru**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Light yaoi, spoilers for Kira's backstory**

**Words: 2313**

**Description: Izuru has found himself again. And it's about damn time. Vaguely refers to number 41, **_**Not Quite Emo**_**. **

**Dedication: For Nocturne 22, who wanted a Shuuhei/Kira**

* * *

It is late, and the rain that drizzles down on top of his head only compounds on the misery that seems to hang over the whole of Seireitei. Nothing has been right since The Betrayal, as many have taken to calling it. Capital letters and everything. It is whispered and murmured; it is discussed. Always _The Betrayal._

There are those it has affected more than others. And there are those who have barely noticed their absence, who only realize the outcome of The Betrayal by the reactions of those around them. Izuru is one of many who has felt the sting hit all too close to home. He still remembers Ichimaru-taichou. He sometimes sees flashes of his captain still sitting behind his desk.

Unlike the others, however, Izuru is not depressed. He is not moping, and he is certainly not spending days upon end missing his captain. No, Izuru is angry. He is training, and he is learning, and he is capitalizing on his own strengths.

Others are not so lucky. Others hide their pain much better, under a facade of bravado. And yet, even more simply succumb to the madness of their agony. Hinamori-chan will never be the same for Aizen's betrayal. She pretends to smile, and she tries, but the haunted look is still in her eyes. And she looks like death warmed over twice. A look no make-up from the living world can cover.

It is for that reason that Izuru is standing here at this moment, rain blowing across his back and soaking his clothes. It is a bit chilly, and he shivers, but he stands there determined nonetheless. One hand clutches Kotetsu-fukutaichou's famous brownies, the other knocks loudly on the door in front of him.

He doesn't think he can save Hinamori-chan. She is beyond his reach. And everyone is so busy trying to make sure that Izuru doesn't also succumb that they've missed who else might need their attention. Izuru is certain that he is fine, that he has found his own strength. In fact, in some ways he has rediscovered his courage.

It leads him to do things he might not have done before. To risk things he might not have gambled with prior to The Betrayal.

Izuru hears a muttered curse, and a familiar reiatsu washes to his senses. A bit frazzled and strained on the edges, lined with traces of pain and spilled blood. And yet, there is also the feeling of wind, which has grown colder in recent weeks. A hand fumbles at the door, and then, it slides open.

"Kira?" Hisagi-senpai blinks at him in surprise, brow furrowing.

Izuru, for his part, is momentarily speechless. It isn't so much that he hasn't seen the other man in a half-dressed state before, because he has, but there is something different about this time. Perhaps it is the knowledge of his partial reason for coming. Either way, the sight of him wearing only his hakama, bandages loosely bound around his bare upper body, makes Izuru's brain briefly turn white with lust. Or perhaps scarlet is the operative color here.

He _wants_.

"What are you doing here?" Shuuhei continues, voice jogging Izuru out of a brief fantasy that skitters across his brain.

Holding up the plate of brownies, Izuru offers his senpai what he considers a smile. "I heard you were injured," he explains and hopes that he doesn't look as pathetic as he thinks he does, rain matting down his hair and making him appear drowned.

Shuuhei blinks. "I... okay." He scratches at the back of his head with his free hand and steps aside, a casual invitation for Izuru to come within his quarters. A familiar location, but still, it feels a bit different for the blond this time around.

"I brought you something," Izuru explains as he enters, his eyes flickering around the familiar arrangement of Hisagi-senpai's quarters. "And knowing you, I figured you haven't even been to the fourth yet."

He catches Shuuhei's sheepish grin from the corner of his eye as he slides his door shut, closing them within the room. "It's not that serious of an injury." He steps by Izuru and lowers himself back to the floor, amidst a pile of scattered papers.

Izuru looks askance at the documents, pretty sure he recognizes several of them. "You brought your paperwork home?" He is incredulous. But then again, he also has the benefit of Ise-fukutaichou's help for his.

"There's a lot," Shuuhei replies shortly and then looks up at him as one hand mindlessly paws through the various papers. "Sit, Izuru. You know you're welcome."

Setting the brownies off to the side, Izuru lowers himself to the floor, folding his legs beneath him. He frowns when he notices a reddish stain is beginning to spread across the side of Shuuhei's bandages. He sighs at the sight, Shuuhei barely noticing as he prods without interest at the stacks of paperwork, even more cumbersome since The Betrayal.

"You're bleeding," he points out helpfully, realizing that he may also just be searching for conversation. And it feels so awkward where it usually doesn't, which is probably due to the fact he has something to say but doesn't know how.

Shuuhei predictably doesn't seem to notice. He never has, and Izuru is tired of waiting for him. He is glad for this recently discovered courage.

"Probably so, yeah," the other vice-captain replies, one hand pressing cautiously to the wound at his side. "Damn Hollow got me when I wasn't looking. I was careless."

"That's not like you," Izuru comments and shifts around to get a better look at the wound. Sure enough, the evidence of claw marks peek through the makeshift wrappings, four perfectly spaced crimson lines.

Hisagi-senpai snorts, tone turning bitter. "I can probably think of a few other things that aren't."

And the both of them know what he means. It doesn't even need words. The Betrayal hangs like a heavy pall in the air.

Daring to move closer, Izuru reaches for the hastily wrapped injury. "Let me take a look at it."

Grunting his assent, Shuuhei shifts his position, showing Izuru his back. "That's right," he murmurs as if suddenly recalling. "You were once in the fourth."

"I was. Until tai-- until I was promoted to the third," Izuru responds, somehow finding it taboo to speak of his former captain in this room.

Leaning his chin on his palm, balanced on one elbow, Shuuhei gradually relaxes under Izuru's careful touches. "Why did you leave?" he asks. A question that up until now hasn't been asked before.

Cautiously unwinding the bandages and revealing the gash in all its gruesome glory, Izuru idly shrugs. Shuuhei's familiar scent seems to surround him.

"There was an opening for the position." He scrutinizes the extent of the injury. It is quite deep in several places, but as senpai has stated before, not life-threatening. "And I'd gone as far as I could under Unohana-taichou."

It is quite ugly, he notices. Curling around Shuuhei's side and stretching across his back, nearly to his spine. It is almost as if the Hollow had tried to grab him, and Shuuhei had torn himself free from the claws with a violent twist. Wincing sympathetically, Izuru calls his reiatsu to his fingertips, easing a gentle warmth into Shuuhei's skin.

He hears Hisagi-senpai suck in a breath, shifting in discomfort. "Sorry," Izuru murmurs, brow furrowing as he concentrates. "I am not as gentle as I used to be."

"S'fine," Shuuhei returns, free hand idly flipping at a few papers. He hasn't managed to look at or sign a single one since Izuru arrived. "Better than going to the fourth anyway."

Izuru smiles faintly, amusement trickling through him. "You avoid it. Why?"

"Not _it_," Shuuhei corrects, twitching slightly underneath Izuru's ministrations as the wounds begin to knit themselves closed. It's never a comfortable process, even from the most skilled of healers. "Unohana-taichou. She keeps insisting that I speak with someone. Anyone. She won't believe me when I say that I'm fine."

"Sounds familiar." Izuru breathes evenly as his reiatsu rises in the room, and he carefully blankets it over Shuuhei's back, enveloping the whole of the injury.

His senpai grunts in acknowledgment. "Is that why you came? Because you knew I wouldn't go to the fourth?"

"Partially," he admits and swallows thickly as he tries to figure out how to word what he means to say. "For another reason, too."

Shuuhei shifts, glancing over his shoulder with one dark eye full of concern. "Everything alright, Izuru?"

Sighing, the younger vice-captain shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. "Worry about yourself for once, Hisagi-senpai. You're the one who's actually injured here."

"You know you don't have to stand on formalities when it's just us."

_Us._

Izuru likes the sound of that. It gives him a greater sense of spirit for a confession that has the potential to either destroy one of his most precious friendships. Or move it to the next level. Of course, Izuru prefers the latter.

Fighting back the heat that threatens to crawl into his cheeks, Izuru drops his hands, healing complete. "I know." He shifts back to give Shuuhei some space. "It's just a habit that's hard to break."

"So I've noticed." Shuuhei reaches up, stretching both arms over his head as he tests Izuru's work. Bone pops, skin flexing over muscle, and Izuru swears that Shuuhei knows and is purposefully teasing him. "Thanks. It feels great."

"Anytime," Izuru says and inwardly curses when he realizes he has inadvertently let some of his desire into his tone. And though Shuuhei is one of the most oblivious men he knows, even his friend will be able to sense that.

Shuuhei turns, furrowing his brow and completely abandoning all sense of handling his paperwork. "You didn't answer me earlier. Everything alright?"

Izuru has come with the intention of making several things clear, his affection for Hisagi-senpai not the least of them. So when Shuuhei asks him again, he finds it all spilling out of him in a vaguely coherent manner. All carefully crafted speeches are thrown out the window because Izuru is just tired of it all. He's long moved on; it's time everyone else did, too.

"It's fine," he says, and his voice carries a hint of urgency. "In fact, it's been fine. _I'm_ fine."

Shuuhei blinks. "Umm, okay," he says, likely confused by the sudden repetition.

"I can stand on my own feet, you know," Izuru adds with gaining confidence as he folds his hands over his knees, fingers tightening around them. "You don't have to be strong for me."

"We know that--"

He shakes his head, interrupting Hisagi-senpai's response. "No, you don't," he corrects, and a smile flits onto his lips. "But that's okay. Ichimaru is gone, and I'm fine. I'm not weak like everyone wants to think."

Izuru is especially proud of himself for that statement. Managing to say his former captain's name with no hesitation. Managing to leave off the respectful title. Managing to say it all in passing as though Ichimaru no longer matters. After all, he doesn't. He's gone. He's abandoned them. And Izuru doesn't need him.

"Never thought you were," Shuuhei replies and smiles himself, though his face is still filled with confusion. "Where is this coming from anyway? Did someone say something?"

Izuru shrugs. "We're in a war," he explains, the truth only part of the reason he has decided enough is enough. "Time's short, and I'm tired of sitting around waiting for things to happen. I plan to go after what I want."

"Like what?" Shuuhei's face pinches in confusion, as though trying to piece out just what it is Izuru desires.

His heart gives a careful leap of nervousness, though it doesn't show on Izuru's face. He just steadies himself and stares into Shuuhei's dark eyes.

"Like this," the blond murmurs, and before he can convince himself not to, Izuru leans forward and captures Shuuhei's lips with his own.

Shuuhei stills in abrupt surprise, and Izuru takes it as a rejection. He has every intention to end it, until he feels the faintest movement against his mouth. Shuuhei is kissing him back, slow and tentative. Tasting faintly of sake and oranges, of all things.

And when he pulls back, surprise is etched into Shuuhei's features. "You...?" he begins but doesn't complete the question, as if he's not sure what he should be asking. Still, he doesn't look like he wants to punch Izuru in the face, and that's a welcome sight.

Izuru simply nods.

Shuuhei considers this. "How long?"

"Does it matter?"

He thinks about it. "Maybe?"

Izuru looks at him and abruptly laughs. He can't help it. For all his intelligence and cool calm, Shuuhei can also be flustered, and that is amusing. It makes him more reachable, within Izuru's grasp, rather than on the outskirts of his range. It makes him touchable and not simply a senpai that Izuru can only admire and never obtain.

His laughter quiets, however, when Shuuhei curls his fingers around Izuru's face suddenly and pulls him into another kiss. He can feel Shuuhei's reiatsu like a rippling river just beneath the surface, still cold but also somehow soothed. Knowing one isn't alone can be a saving grace, Izuru understands this from experience.

And a part of him thinks briefly that The Betrayal is not completely terrible. For though it has brought him pain and anger, it has also helped him find something he hasn't had before. Something he might not have ever found with Ichimaru's hold on him.

He's found himself again.

* * *

a/n: Ah, squishy. That's the only thing I can say about this one. Squishy. I just love Kira. He's one of my absolute faves. So is Shuuhei, for that matter. Someday, I'm going to write a Renji/Kira/Shuuhei. Someday. I vow this. *grins*

Anyways, I hope you liked it! This is one of my favorites.

An announcement -- so you're not blind-sided next week -- starting at next week's posting, I will be taking a month-long hiatus. The only thing I'll be updating is this - _Seireitei Monogatari - _in the interest of, well, actually writing something. To be honest, I don't have anything else to offer you guys, so I'm taking a month off to get something put together.

But! While you are all awaiting the new stuff I've got planned, _Seireitei Monogatari _will still get updated ANNNNND I will reopen the requests I previously closed. Now this all starts next week, so don't jump the fence and start requesting today, lol. But definitely start thinking about it. I'll bring more information next week for you, so this is just a head's up!


	112. Musical Chairs

**Title: Musical Chairs**

**Characters: Kira Izuru, mentions of others**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Massive speculation, AU-ish, Massive Spoilers to Kira's background  
**

**Words: 2577**

**Description: If anyone asked why, Izuru's answer would be simple: only Ichimaru had ever really wanted him. **

**Inspired by the recent knowledge that Kira was also in the fourth division at one point.  
**

* * *

Izuru began his Shinigami career in the fifth division, recruited fresh out of the Academy along with Abarai-kun and Hinamori-chan. They all three had their beginning under Aizen-taichou, thrilled and honored by his choice. They worked hard to prove how worthy they were of his decision, Izuru especially.

Abarai-kun was the first to leave, better suited for the fighters of the eleventh. Hinamori-chan stayed, rising quickly through the ranks. And Izuru was left watching himself standing stagnant as those he knew grew in power and he stayed the same. He heard of Hisagi-senpai's ascension to the lieutenant's seat and wondered if he would be able to follow in his path.

And then, Aizen-taichou transferred him to the fourth. His captain thought that Izuru would be better served there, kind and gentle as he was. And though his kidoh was very good, it wasn't quite the level he needed to rise in the ranks of the fifth. Disappointed, Izuru obeyed the transfer.

It wasn't long after that the Gotei-13 celebrated the ascension of a captain. Ichimaru-fukutaichou had become Ichimaru-taichou, captain of the third division. Izuru could still remember the sight of the silver-haired man, striding into battle and easily dispatching the Hollow that had attacked them.

He held Ichimaru-taichou in much the same regard as Aizen-taichou, though Hinamori-chan had always thought him odd for it. She called Ichimaru-taichou "creepy." She said that it wasn't even his eyes that bothered her, but his smile because it was so fake. A part of Izuru agreed, but a larger part was in awe of Ichimaru-taichou's abilities. The Gotei-13 was full of odd people, after all.

Izuru liked the fourth division. He learned much under Unohana-taichou's tutelage. And he was very good at what he did. He could heal wounds, large and small, and he was a great asset on the battlefield. He could sympathize with the wounded.

In the end, however, he wasn't suited for the fourth either. He didn't have the heart of a healer, Unohana-taichou told him gently. He had a noble disposition and gentle hands, a smile that could lighten any heart, but he still wanted to fight. His blood still burned to be on the battlefield. The sound of a Hollow's roar made his limbs tremble in anticipation.

Unohana-taichou suggested the eighth, where he could flourish under Kyouraku-taichou's leadership and yet keep his gentle heart. Even Izuru knew he wasn't suited for the eleventh. Perhaps he would be more inclined to numbers and records and keep his interest in the battlefield.

Ise-fukutaichou was stern but had a soft side. He watched as she and Kyouraku-taichou interacted often, thinking it was much like a father and daughter in many respects. Izuru didn't really take Kyouraku-taichou's adulations seriously. And neither did Ise-fukutaichou. Their behavior made him think of his own family sometimes, and it was comforting. He liked the eighth, and Izuru thought that he could've been satisfied there.

But he heard rumors then of Hinamori-chan rising faster through the ranks. She was nearing the second-seat at a surprising pace. Aizen-taichou was pleased with her growth. And even Abarai-kun. He was making a name for himself in the eleventh. He was finding his place. Izuru thought that like his fellow students, he had found where he belonged as well.

Not even a year after his transfer into the eighth, Izuru was abruptly reassigned without any sort of explanation or prior warning. He woke one morning to find the papers waiting for him, urging haste. And he had to report to his next division within an hour of receiving it. Izuru hadn't even known that a transfer could be enacted so quickly.

Fingering his shihakushou, which he would have to rip out the tag on the inside and change it again, Izuru promptly dressed and reported for duty as ordered. And when he passed Kyouraku-taichou and Ise-fukutaichou on his way, he couldn't quite describe the look in their eyes.

Kyouraku-taichou just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, his words somehow sounding hollow. "Jyuu-chan needs a good worker like you," he said, squeezing him warmly. "I know you'll suit the thirteenth very well."

Izuru could only smile and nod because he couldn't exactly argue with his superior. He had to do as he was told.

"Thank you, Kyouraku-taichou, for taking care of me as well." And with a parting bow, he excused himself, something like betrayal stirring inside of him.

That was the first time he'd had the feeling that no one seemed to want him. He had immediately dismissed the thought. It was preposterous. He simply hadn't found his place yet; that was all. And with the Gotei-13 still shaken by the events decades before he entered the Academy… well, no one really knew what was happening.

The thirteenth division was not much different than the eighth. He thought that Kotetsu-san's and Kotsubaki-san's arguments were charming because they obviously cared very dearly for their captain. And they actually did need his help there. Ukitake-taichou was sick often, and there was a lingering sense of loss over the entire division. Everyone had loved Shiba-fukutaichou and his wife.

The vacancy in the second-seat called to Izuru, and he was beginning to think that he was ready for it. He was perhaps the most rounded out of his fellows. And he rose quickly through the ranks. He found himself in the seventh-seat within record time, his smile and charm befriending many of those in the division. He even made acquaintances of Abarai-kun's dear companion, Kuchiki Rukia.

And on a day that Ukitake-taichou was feeling better, he called Izuru to his office. Izuru thought that maybe this was his chance, that he could rise higher still and gain that much coveted position. Instead, he met Ukitake-taichou's apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry," he said as gently as he could muster, looking both pale and weak. Despite needing rest, he had insisted on working that day. "You are skilled, Izuru-kun. Very talented in everything. Kidoh. Hakudo. Healing."

"But?" Izuru felt his heart drop into his stomach as his fingers clenched around his knees; he knew what the apology meant.

Dark eyes were sympathetic, warm and soft. "You are wasted here, Izuru-kun. I am not ready for a fukutaichou, and you are most definitely prepared to be one."

His shoulders sagged, having suspected as much. "Where?" he asked and hated that it came out so defeated. Perhaps a bit bitter.

Ukitake-taichou blinked and reached for one of the papers on his desk, handing it over. "The sixth. Byakuya-kun has far more openings than I do."

And what could Izuru do but take the transfer with the same quiet dignity he had accepted the others. He couldn't argue; it wouldn't do him any good. And he understood the pain behind Ukitake-taichou's decision. It wasn't easy to lose one's dearest friends to a Hollow, especially in that matter. He supposed he couldn't fault Ukitake-taichou for that. Even if it did feel like a rejection.

In the end, however, his stay at the sixth division was the briefest of his tenures within the Gotei-13. Izuru wasn't sure if he was proud or disappointed.

There was a coldness to the sixth, perpetuated by the social enigma that was its captain. They stood strong on formality, which Izuru was very capable of obeying, and the rules were strictly followed. And of course, Izuru had heard the rumors, had known what Kuchiki-taichou had lost. He didn't have a heart of stone, just the composure of one.

Izuru's only comfort was that his next transfer came along with a promotion. To the third-seat of the tenth division, where he labored under Matsumoto-san and the recently appointed Hitsugaya-taichou. He had tried and failed to hide his disappointment at being reassigned so quickly yet again. Even though Kuchiki-taichou had needed a vice-captain, he hadn't wanted Izuru, and that stung.

It was a rejection he wasn't sure how to accept. Hisagi-senpai – vice-captain in his own rights – had assured him that Kuchiki-taichou didn't really like anyone, and he shouldn't beat himself up about it. That he was even under pressure from the captain-commander to make a decision or have it made for him. And Hinamori-chan was supportive, too, kindly urging him on with an encouraging smile.

Neither of them understood how Izuru felt. They hadn't been tossed from division to division like a piece of unwanted garbage. And even Hinamori-chan had found her place, finally taking empty the lieutenant seat in her own division. They were all leaving him behind, all but Abarai-kun. But even he had only moved once and to a place that suited him all too well. He was making friends in the eleventh; he was growing stronger.

And Izuru, he felt as if he had stagnated. Even Wabisuke was disgusted, and he shared the sentiment with his zanpakutou. Bankai seemed so far out of his reach that he hadn't even considered it.

That brief earlier thought that no one wanted him, returned full force. It whispered in his ear, bringing up facts and figures. He couldn't even count the number of divisions he had served in on one hand anymore.

It was odd serving under what amounted to a child. Matsumoto-fukutaichou seemed to handle it just fine, so Izuru thought that he could, too. But there was still no room for advancement, not for him. Matsumoto-san seemed comfortable in her position, displaying no desire to grow stronger. And Izuru stared longingly at her seat, wondering if everything the other captain's had said about his abilities were just lies to cover up how willing they were to dismiss him.

Languishing in the tenth with nowhere to rise, Izuru just floated by his day to day routine. Positions were being taken to the left and right of him in every division, and the world moved on.

And then, everything changed.

In the midst of practicing his kata at the tenth division training arena, Izuru had felt eyes watching him. Turning, he spied Ichimaru-taichou standing in the doorway, observing him. Blinking in surprise, Izuru hastily lowered his zanpakutou and bowed.

Folding his arms into his sleeves, Ichimaru-taichou quietly entered the room. "Pardon th' intrusion," he put in with an ever-present smile on his face.

Izuru shook his head, straightening. Wabisuke was returned to his sheath with a quiet slide of metal upon case.

"I was almost done, sir. Are you looking for Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Actually," the captain replied, coming to a stop right in front of him, "I was lookin' fer you."

He blinked and had to lift his eyes to meet Ichimaru-taichou's slitted gaze. "Me, sir? Why?"

"The third needs a fukutaichou." He tilted his head to the side, white haori making a quiet swish over the polished wood flooring. "And I think Izuru-chan's perfect fer the spot. Ya interested?"

Izuru suddenly found it difficult to breathe, completely speechless. It was another transfer, true. But this time, he was actually wanted. Needed even. Ichimaru-taichou had come for him personally.

The captain seemed to take his silence the wrong way, grin faintly faltering. "Yer not?"

"No," Izuru replied. And then, shook his head, bewilderment making him less eloquent than usual. And somewhere, he must have forgotten all manners. "I mean, yes."

Ichimaru-taichou's smile abruptly returned, widening in amusement. "Which is it?"

He could barely hide his excitement, his pride. Everything he had been working hard to accomplish, it finally meant something. His dedication and his patience, it had been for a reason. Izuru had finally found his niche.

"I'm interested," he replied perhaps a bit too hastily. "I am honored that you would give me this opportunity, sir."

It was as simple as that. By the next week, Izuru was standing in the empty quarters for the third division lieutenant and imagining what could fill the space. He fingered the vice-captain's badge, only worn on special occasions, the symbol etched into the thick wood. Congratulations had been in order then, and his friends had made sure to commend him on his accomplishment.

Ichimaru-taichou smiled at him, called him "Izuru-chan." He taught him advanced kidoh and teased him with piles of paperwork. They worked together in battle, and Izuru lived for Ichimaru-taichou's praise. He was bound and determined to prove to his captain that his choice would not give him regret.

He dismissed Hinamori-chan's earlier comments about Ichimaru-taichou's oddities. There wasn't a single Shinigami in the Gotei-13 who wasn't strange in some way. They were like friends, partners, understanding each other in all things. Izuru thought that he was becoming stronger, always admiring the one person who had given him a chance when no one else would willingly.

Izuru was happy. He was content. He thought that he'd found where he belonged. He was no longer the unwanted Shinigami, shifted from division to division. He was needed. He had purpose. And Izuru was satisfied.

Nothing ever lasted forever, however. As a Shinigami, Izuru knew that especially. And his content was short-lived, evanescent as all things in his life.

This time, it was Ichimaru-taichou who left him. Who rose into the sky, leaving Izuru behind. He was still in the same division, but it wasn't the same. Not without his captain. It felt like abandonment, stung like betrayal. And Izuru was left lost again, drifting without direction. No one understood, and no one tried.

There was sympathy, of course, something given because it was expected. There was encouragement and brief mentions of hope and anger, trying to promote growing stronger. They talked of Ichimaru-taichou freely, insulting him and promising revenge and a swift defeat. Only Izuru was thinking that was far from what he wanted.

Many would consider him a traitor. He was sure that was what they would whisper when they found his empty quarters in the morning. When he didn't show up for duty as vice-captain – not acting captain like Hisagi-senpai. But Izuru had made his decision.

He didn't feel guilty for the device he had borrowed from the twelfth division, never to be returned. It was a small thing, only strong enough for one person to open one gate. He didn't feel apologetic for abandoning the third. They were strong; they would make it. And they would get a new captain soon enough; Izuru had heard the rumors. Something about a long-range patrol returning and captain-level reiatsu.

They didn't need him.

Izuru stepped onto bone-white sands, the spires of Las Noches visible in the distance. He was nervous. A bit unsure out here, where the Hollow were rampant and wouldn't hesitate to kill a Shinigami. He hadn't worn his shihakushou, but his reiatsu made it clear just what he was. As did the zanpakutou tucked into his obi.

He had made his decision, however. And there was no turning back now. There was only one place that he belonged, and it was here. By Ichimaru-taichou's side.

Even if he had to become a traitor to do it.

* * *

AN:Inspired by recent chapters and Kubo's complete inability to keep a consistent timeline.

I don't think I've mentioned how much I adore Kira. He's worming his way to the top of my list, contending Renji for a favorite character spot. He's so strong, despite his weak appearance, and I love writing that strength.

I hope you liked! This one happens to be a personal favorite of mine.

Also, announcement!

This week begins the return of the requests. Send them in, one and all, pairings or no. Even if you just want an introspective piece on a specific character, that's fine. Be specific if you want. PM me if you don't feel like leaving it in a visible review. It's up to you. The slot is only going to be open until April 21st, so get them in. And have fun!

Ah, because it's come up before, there are few things that I don't want to try. I like odd pairings and I do like heterosexual pairings as well as threesomes. However, there are a few pairings I adamantly refuse to write and that is Orihime/Any resident of Hueco Mundo (Espada and Shinigami traitors included) and Ichigo/Orihime. Mayuri/Anyone is on a trial basis, depending on the character. And that's really it. Other than those, go wild!


	113. Of Respect and Loathing

**Title: Of Respect and Loathing**

**Pairings: Ulquiorra/Grimmjow**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Light yaoi, Slight Language**

**Words: 2064**

**Description: Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. Nor did he loathe him.**

**Dedication: For Golden Kitsune, who wanted an Ulquiorra/Grimmjow. I'm not sure I managed the pairing part.**

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. Nor did he loathe him. Both emotions required too much effort on Ulquiorra's part, which Grimmjow wasn't worth.

Instead, Ulquiorra felt towards Grimmjow as he felt towards the other Espada: complete apathy. Grimmjow was just there. An occasional nuisance but otherwise just a blip on the edge of Ulquiorra's senses.

It was the utter truth that Ulquiorra respected no one but Aizen-sama. Even though he had once been a Shinigami, Aizen-sama was different. Powerful. Worthy of respect. No one else, not even the other two ex-captains commanded such obedience. In fact, Ulquiorra barely tolerated them.

So while he didn't loathe Grimmjow or even come close to respecting him, a part of Ulquiorra envied the other Espada. Not for his position, not for his strength, and especially not for his personality. It was none of those.

Ulquiorra envied him for his freedom. For his determination. For his spirit.

It was both pathetic and enviable, his ability to fall and rise in the same breath. Bleeding, aching, gash after gash, and still Grimmjow found his feet. He lost more times than Ulquiorra could count and even faltered against a piece of trash like that half-human Kurosaki. Rather than erase his arrogance, however, Grimmjow just forced himself to become stronger. He didn't know when to quit.

Determination. Ulquiorra didn't understand it. The tier of strength, the laws that governed the world, they were concrete. Black and white. The powerful ruled over the weak, and strength was everything. There was no room for pity, and defeat was just that. Defeat. There was nothing on the other side of it. A loss was a loss was a loss. And in the end, a loss was death, especially in the life of a Hollow.

There was no room for try, try again or getting back on the horse like those ridiculous human idioms. Death was the final end, and even for Arrancar like them, Ulquiorra couldn't say with any certainty what would occur.

He didn't understand someone like Grimmjow. And yet, he envied him. It was something of a paradox, his careful apathy and grudging envy.

Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. But he did hate the questions that the sixth Espada invoked in him. He did not like mysteries; he did not like confusion. And he especially did not like envying anyone for anything. He loathed that bewildering part of his psyche that spent any amount of time pondering Grimmjow's determination and reasoning. It was impossible to rationalize the actions of an idiot, after all. And Grimmjow was the king of morons, even more so than that fool Nnoitra or the ridiculously strong and lackadaisical Stark.

He honestly could say that he didn't know how it happened.

It started out as a completely innocuous conversation, though that probably should have been his first warning that something was odd. Nothing more than a routine patrol along the borders of Las Noches. Ulquiorra often walked the perimeter when Aizen-sama had no immediate need of him and he felt that the white walls of the palace were stifling. Being surrounded by the useless dregs of some of his fellows was suffocating.

A spot of blue against the harsh white and black of Hueco Mundo's desert caught his eye, however. He paused, senses bringing the identity of the person to him. Not that the bright hair was unrecognizable.

On any other day, Ulquiorra would have sniffed and continued, completely ignoring Grimmjow's presence as he did most of the rest of Las Noches. He wasn't sure what it was that inspired him to step onto the sand and make his way to the boulder that the ex-sixth was perched on, obviously sulking.

Grimmjow sat with one leg dangling over the side as the other curled towards him, ankle beneath his knee. The missing arm was even more prominent now that it was wrapped in bandages, likely still tender to the touch. Grimmjow cursed under his breath as he picked at the injury on his chest, a present from Kurosaki, plucking at the scab in a rather disgusting manner.

He sensed Ulquiorra's presence immediately, though Ulquiorra knew he had neither let out a sound nor let even a tiny tendril of reiatsu slip from his control. Grimmjow's senses were like his resurrección, a cat's gift of smell and reaction.

"What do _you_ want?" Grimmjow demanded sourly, shoulders tensing but not bothering to turn and regard Ulquiorra with any sort of look.

Green eyes flickered to Grimmjow's back and the scar where the six had once stood prominently. "Why?"

Grimmjow grunted unattractively. "He _can _talk," he muttered as if he were merely talking to himself and not another person. The Arrancar tossed a glance over his shoulder, bright blue eyes striking. "Wastin' your breath on trash now, Schiffer?"

Patience was what he needed at the moment. Grimmjow was such a trying individual. He couldn't help but be belligerent, acting much like a wounded animal, a snarling cat. Hissing, crawling into a corner, prepared to strike at a second's notice. He even sulked like one, licking his wounds in solitude where no one would witness his pain.

Eyes narrowing, Ulquiorra forced himself to repeat his words. "Why?"

Shifting slightly – to keep a better eye on him no doubt – Grimmjow gave him another sidelong look. Then, he returned to plucking at the scarring wound on his chest.

"Why _what_?" he demanded, and there was an edge of both irritation and mockery in his tone.

Ulquiorra gestured to the whole of Grimmjow, both the wounds and the battering to his pride. "Why bother?"

"Try bein' vaguer. It'll help," Grimmjow responded with a snort and roll of his eyes. He cursed then as blood flowed freely, a thin stream down his chest. He wiped it away with a faint lick across his fingers in a distinctly feline manner.

Forcing his patience, Ulquiorra clarified for the sake of the idiot in front of him, who was watching his own wound spill blood with an eerie interest. "You've suffered a telling injury at the hands of a child, and you were punished for your impudence. You have even lost your position. Yet, you keep your life. Why?"

For a moment, Grimmjow didn't answer. He simply cracked his neck with a violent jerk of his head and dropped down from the boulder, turning to face Ulquiorra. One hand raked through violent blue hair. It was a loud color, just like the rest of him.

"A guy like you wouldn't understand," Grimmjow responded, an edge of a smirk on his lips. A hint of the former arrogant idiot before Tousen-sama had punished him.

Ulquiorra's fingers twitched in his pockets. "Like me?" he repeated, and to his horror, found curiosity coloring his tone.

A full-on smirk painted Grimmjow's expression. "Yeah. Like _you_," he repeated and stepped towards Ulquiorra. Nearly crowding him with his bulk, his height, the open expanse of his scarred and _bleeding_ chest and the strong, bitter smell of copper. "Ain't got a scrap of pride, do you?"

Pride. It was another of those terms that remained distant to Ulquiorra. Like determination. They went hand in hand, he was sure. He looked up at Grimmjow, never bothered by the height difference. It was the Arrancar's proximity that disturbed him, though Ulquiorra would never admit such a thing aloud. Grimmjow had a forceful presence, even after the humiliation that Tousen had put him through.

"Was it worth it?" He evaded Grimmjow's question because he had no answer for a query he didn't understand. "You're not even an Espada anymore."

Those brilliant eyes narrowed before Grimmjow suddenly grinned, fanged teeth fully visible. "Just watch," he stated with all of that familiar but foolhardy arrogance. "That wriggly freak won't even see me coming when I get my number back."

"If," Ulquiorra corrected, nostrils flaring as the scent of blood became even more apparent. As well as something else, something unique and wholly Grimmjow. "As you are, even Yammy could defeat you."

One eyebrow twitched, but Grimmjow wasn't to be daunted. "Like I said, an Arrancar like you wouldn't understand. You're Aizen's servant through and through." He lifted his remaining hand, cracking the knuckles.

"Aizen-_sama_." Ulquiorra's gaze hardened.

Blue eyes flashed, something Ulquiorra didn't comprehend flickering in Grimmjow's gaze. And then, he smirked. It was predatory, like a feline on the prowl. For the briefest of moments, a spark of uncertainty attacked Ulquiorra. He felt an unusual urge to retreat but stood his ground out of sheer stubbornness alone. He would never show weakness to trash like Grimmjow.

But then, a hand, larger than his own, gripped his chin as Grimmjow lowered his head and kissed him. Sheer shook rippled through the fourth Espada, preventing him from making a hasty response. He was surrounded by Grimmjow's taste, the aggressiveness of the other Arrancar. Teeth nipped at his bottom lip before Grimmjow drew back, dropping his hand.

He smirked, face and eyes mocking. "And if ya'd had an ounce of pride, you would've punched me for that," he stated and then vanished from Ulquiorra's sight, no doubt slinking away in a flit of sonido.

A bevy of emotions cropped up in Ulquiorra, annoyance and anger the least of them. Confusion topped the list, something that the former Espada had always managed to provoke in him. There was no rationality to the cat, no common sense. He just acted and reacted without any prior thinking on his part.

Contrary to popular belief, Ulquiorra did not hate Grimmjow. But he was beginning to think he might be capable of doing so.

* * *

The next time Ulquiorra saw Grimmjow, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside of him. The ex-Espada was only passing him in the hallway, alone as seemed to be the usual lately. He didn't even say anything. Just looked at Ulquiorra with that mocking smirk on his lips, and Ulquiorra reacted.

His fingers found Grimmjow's throat, and then, he was shoving the other Arrancar against the wall. He held Grimmjow there, pinned by his grip, and still giving him that damn look. It was expectant and amused, taunting even. Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed, and he reacted again, closing the distance and covering Grimmjow's mouth with his own.

It was sloppy and wet, more of an attack than a kiss, but that didn't seem to stop Grimmjow from responding just as violently. Ulquiorra felt those faint fangs bite into his lips, drawing a flash of blood, but he really didn't care. He shoved his tongue into Grimmjow's mouth, the former Espada's lone hand gripping his free arm tightly as he pushed at Ulquiorra's tongue with his own.

As abruptly as Ulquiorra started it, he ended the kiss and pulled his mouth away. Vivid green eyes narrowed as he flexed his fingers against Grimmjow's throat, a hold that he belatedly noticed the other male didn't even try to break. A sense of satisfaction rippled through him. For exactly what, however, Ulquiorra wasn't certain. But he had the brief thought that Grimmjow belonged there, under his control, where he could touch and taste that inscrutable determination.

Grimmjow smirked, licking his lips in a rather lewd manner. "Didn't think you'd have the balls, Schiffer."

Tightening his fingers warningly, Ulquiorra abruptly released Grimmjow and stepped back. "And you remain an idiot," he retorted, irritated by Grimmjow's complete lack of a violent response.

"We'll see," he replied, and it was smug. He raised his fingers, brushing them demonstratively over his lips. "Ya know where to find me."

Then, he was gone, just like before, in a burst of sonido. Leaving Ulquiorra standing in the corridor and staring at the wall. Just as confused as before.

He stood there for several long moments, debating. Weighing. Analyzing. Ulquiorra was not stupid, and despite what the others thought of him, he understood Grimmjow's insinuations. He knew what the kiss meant. And he knew what the other male wanted from him.

Neither respect nor hate flittered through Ulquiorra. Nor loathing or esteem. Yet, he turned down the corridor anyway, towards where he knew the ex-Espada's quarters were located.

It was impossible to rationalize the actions of an idiot, after all.

* * *

AN: Okay, so it doesn't make a lot of sense. But Ulquiorra is damn tricky to write, and this pairing even more so. It's never been one of my favorites. I don't particularly like it, but I always want to give everything I attempt some sort of justice. Even now, I'm still not sure what I think, but we'll see. I do know, however, that I really, really like the tone in this one. There may be more some day. Who knows.

Hope you enjoyed!

Sorry for the late update. Compy was in the shop, poor thing. Another drabble to come next week!


	114. Sins of the Father

**Title: Sins of the Father**

**Characters: Isshin, Urahara, past Isshin/Masaki, and mentions of Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Spoilers up to the Hueco Mundo arc**

**Words: 1,501**

**Description: It is his greatest sin and a secret that Isshin keeps all to himself. **

**AN:** **First, let me say this. I like Isshin, the same as I do most of the characters in Bleach. This is simply a massive speculation on my and my beta's part, and I hope that I've managed to convey all of the emotions and feelings that complicate this piece.**

* * *

The tea in front of him was growing cold, but Isshin hardly noticed. He wouldn't have drunk it anyway. Kisuke had made it, and anyone who knew the shopkeeper knew better than to drink anything the man made. Isshin's fingers were pushing the cup around, letting it clatter on the plate, watching the liquid slosh.

In the next moment, a hand swooped down, pulling the cup out from under his touch. Blinking, Isshin looked up to find Kisuke watching him, moving the drink aside where he could no longer fiddle with it.

Those gray-green eyes were piercing as they regarded him, free from the shadows of his usual hat. "He's heading into Hueco Mundo as we speak," Kisuke stated and settled back onto his side of the table, voice restrained.

"So you said," Isshin replied, gaze flickering between the confiscated cup and the blond. "I was drinking that."

"No, you were playing with it," Kisuke corrected, reaching for his own untouched drink. He simply held the cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. "He could've used your support, Isshin."

Tipping his head back, Isshin looked at the flat lines of the ceiling. "He's done fine on his own so far."

"Somehow," the other man agreed. "But only because he's determined. And I think he knows, by now, not to expect anything from you."

Isshin scoffed, hating that Kisuke's words rang too heavily of truth. "He's my son. My _only_ son..." And here, Isshin trailed off, as though that should be explanation enough.

"_And I love him_," Kisuke continued, watching him darkly. "That's the sort of thing a father usually adds after that kind of statement."

He glared, brown eyes darker with the force of his emotion. "I never said that I didn't," Isshin snapped in irritation. "I do love him. Couldn't be more proud of the kid. He's much stronger than I am."

"But you still blame him. And he knows it, too. Even if neither of you admit it."

Sighing, Isshin dragged a hand over his face and buried his eyes in his palm. It was easier than looking at his dear friend, whose reiatsu thrummed with accusation and disbelief. It was easier than knowing just where he was and what was being said. And what he had already admitted to himself that Kisuke was throwing into his face. The very ugly truth that Isshin had been harboring inside himself.

"I left that place," the elder Kurosaki muttered bitterly, recalling a scene that still sometimes haunted his dreams when they caught him unguarded. "And I still can't escape it. Not me. Not my children."

There was a clink as Kisuke returned his cup to its saucer, just as untouched as before. "I know you. I know the both of you, and I have for as many years as you've been here in the Living World. It's painful, Isshin, for me to see this."

"And yet, you helped him anyway. You're the one that put that creature inside of him."

"Yes, I did."

His voice was unapologetic, completely so, because Kisuke had recognized how little of a choice he'd had in the matter. He'd done what he'd had to do, which was more than what Isshin could say for himself.

"And it is more than you've done for him. A lot of this could have been saved, _Isshin_, if you had just explained something. Anything. But you didn't. And I can't help but wonder why."

Isshin snorted, dropping his hand and pinning the other man with a sharp gaze. "You don't wonder, you know, Kisuke. And don't feed me any bullshit that says otherwise."

"I have my suspicions," the shopkeeper agreed, but he didn't look satisfied for it. "So give me a reason. A good one if you even can." He paused, grey eyes gleaming with so many nameless things. "_Why_?"

His friend wasn't really listening anymore though, thoughts running rampant in his own head. Kisuke was talking, but all Isshin could see was six years ago. Ichigo's crying face. Masaki's blood staining the wet ground. The sound of his own heart breaking, shattering into pieces. The lingering traces of a Hollow's presence.

There was a vicious, rotten side of Isshin that placed the blame for all his agony on his son. If Ichigo hadn't been there, if he hadn't been foolish, if he hadn't placed his mother in the way, Masaki would still be here. Would be with him, and Isshin wouldn't be alone.

He couldn't help it. He didn't want to. And he hated himself for having those thoughts about his own son. His blood. His pride and joy. But he did it anyway. He blamed Ichigo for Masaki's death, even if rationality and knowledge of the spiritual world gave absolute proof that it was a Hollow who took her life.

It was a poisonous, savage part of Isshin that he couldn't chase away, couldn't escape from. It cropped up at all the wrong moments, whispering vilely into his ear. It made him say or do things he shouldn't. Or as it were, keep certain secrets to himself. It was the same awful side that took sick satisfaction in watching Ichigo flounder, in watching him struggle to deal with his Shinigami abilities. Sadistic and cruel, not parent-like in the slightest. Only watching as Ichigo suffered. Thinking it justice for taking Masaki away from him.

He had known from the moment Ichigo started developing reiatsu. His son had always had it, and his powers only grew in strength as he aged. Isshin knew that Ichigo eventually would have hit the radar as a tasty snack for any Hollow. But he didn't think it would come as early as nine. And he'd never thought that Masaki would be the one to suffer for it.

Isshin could have done anything when his children started seeing spirits. He could have explained; he could have told the truth without telling everything. He could have pointed them in Kisuke's direction. Instead, he did nothing. Nothing at all.

He had seen the changes the moment that Kuchiki girl met Ichigo. He had known when Ichigo started flitting away in the night to fight Hollows. He'd watched his son grow in strength, had felt his encounter with the Seireitei Shinigami. And had known that Ichigo had gone into Soul Society after the Kuchiki girl.

He'd still done nothing. He had simply watched Ichigo struggle, hadn't even offered up an inch of advice. He'd let that vicious, _wrong_ part of him take precedence. Let it tell him to do nothing.

Isshin was a terrible father, and he knew it. He didn't need someone else to point it out to him. After all, he both loved and hated his son all the same.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Isshin saw his hand clench and unclench, watched the muscles flex as it did so. "He's my son," was all he could say to his long-time friend. "And I'm a terrible father. There's nothing to explain."

Gray-green eyes followed him, observing every motion he made. "It's not too late," Kisuke replied quietly, softly. Voice hesitant but hopeful. Not for himself but for Ichigo.

And in that instant, Isshin knew that Urahara Kisuke was a better man than him. Probably always had been. After all, Isshin would've never been willing to risk his life, to even risk exile for a bunch of half-Hollows. Much less for his oldest child.

Isshin shook his head. "You're wrong." His laugh was bitter and harsh. "I trained him. I taught him what I could. But I didn't help him." One hand clenched into a fist. "You've been more of a father than I have, Kisuke. You can say that you care for him, that you worry about him. That you love him… You can say all of that and actually mean it."

Silence met his admission, the blond for once at a complete loss for words. There was sympathy in his expression and concern. But there wasn't argument. No refutation. No denial.

Aside from a few incidents and occasions when Ichigo was very young, Kisuke had only really known the boy for a few months. And already he would die if it meant that Ichigo would live.

Just like Masaki. So much like Masaki that it made Isshin want to hit something. Made him want to throw that distant teacup against the wall.

But he didn't. He just sat there and watched. Like he had always done. Which was to say absolutely nothing.

"What are you going to do then?" Kisuke finally asked, the atmosphere in the room rife and heavy with tension.

And for that, Isshin had no answer.

* * *

a/n: There would be a lengthy explanation to fully understand this piece. And you really have to read between the lines. I really don't know what possessed me to write it, except that I tend to speculate A LOT on things. This isn't to say that I don't think Isshin loves Ichigo. I fully believe that he does. And I'm sure he has his reasons for not helping Ichigo or revealing the truth. I'm just waiting on Kubo to give me these reasons. Until then, I'll speculate. I have many other theories as well, this is just the darkest of them.

With that said, I'm impatiently awaiting my flames. Bring them on, lol.

We go back to happier scheduled programming next week... sorta... with "Closer" which is ZangetsuxUrahara. And it's slightly smutty. Wahoo!


	115. Closer

Yet again, I bring you an M-rated fic. Please, do not read if you do not like or cannot read something M-rated. There is boysmut here. You are forewarned.

* * *

**Title: Closer**

**Pairings: Zangetsu/Urahara, onesided Urahara/Ichigo**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Yaoi, Swearing, Lime, Kink? **

**Words: 1882**

**Description: He yearns and wants and needs but can't have. So Kisuke takes the next best thing.**

**Dedication: For an anonymous reader, who wanted Zangetsu/Urahara. I suspect they were testing me. Lol!**

* * *

It is nothing life-threatening, but Kisuke suspects it hurts like a bitch. And rather than deal with Kurosaki-kun's reckless behavior and whining, a simple injection of anesthesia when he isn't looking does the trick. Lovely little medicine the fourth division has cooked up, and he's glad he's gotten a fresh shipment of it.

Sighing to himself, Kisuke checks the bandages he's applied and wonders how long he has before Tessai returns with Orihime-chan. Perhaps it is just enough.

Rising to his feet, his attention is grabbed by Ichigo's zanpakutou, innocuously propped up against the wall. He debates for all of a moment before deciding the risk is well worth it. The blond steps quietly across the floor, thanking the skills he gained in the second division, until he stands before Zangetsu. Even dormant, he can feel the power emanating from the zanpakutou. Almost as if it is calling to him.

He doesn't hesitate to answer.

Admiring the sleek and silver blade, Kisuke can't help but drag his fingers down the smooth surface. The metal is cool to the touch but thrumming with power. Not even a scratch mars the surface, despite Ichigo's constant and reckless use of it. Smiling to himself, he sends a short burst of his own reiatsu into the blade.

Almost immediately, there is an answering pulse. Ichigo's reiatsu surges in the room, edged with something a bit calmer, and then, a form steps out of nowhere. Black cloth swirls around a faintly taller frame, eyes hidden by black sunglasses.

One eyebrow arches. "Taking advantage of an injured man?" Zangetsu teases, reiatsu settling around him like a cloak.

Kisuke tips his head to the side and drinks in the sight of his occasional lover. "Whatever it takes," he replies with a not-so-subtle lick of his lips.

Zangetsu steps closer, looming over the former captain as the air between them sizzles and cracks with heat. "You know, you'll eventually have to tell him about your crush."

"Can't you do that for me?" he returns, tipping his head back in invitation.

Zangetsu reaches up and knocks his hat from his head. "He knows as much as I do," he replies as the hat hits the floor and rolls, coming to a stop near Ichigo's arm. "Or as much as he wants to know."

"He's a smart kid," Kisuke agrees. "He'll figure it out eventually." He twists his fingers in his lover's black coat, dragging them together. "Now, come on. We don't have much time."

Shaking his head, Zangetsu reaches up and removes his sunglasses, eyes the same shade as Ichigo's. "We'd have longer if you'd just confess," he murmurs and leans down, sealing his mouth over the blond.

Something like a moan gurgles in his throat as he falls back against the wall, still clutching Zangetsu to him. The spirit's tongue slides into his mouth, careful and sure. There is a clatter as his sunglasses drop to the floor, and both hands move to Kisuke's back, sliding down until he cups the shopkeeper's lower regions. He presses the man against the wall, grinding against him.

"If we only had time for more," Kisuke groans, head falling back as a warm mouth focuses on his throat. He can feel heat surging and rocketing through his body.

He dimly realizes that this is probably not the healthiest of desires for him. To crave the touch of his student's zanpakutou. Perhaps it only reflects the want he has for the student himself as well, a want he refuses to act upon. Or even admit aloud if only to himself. There are some lines even he isn't willing to cross, and sexing up a minor just happens to be one of them. The fact that said minor is the child of his best friend and his own pupil only compounds the problem.

That Ichigo is only a few short feet behind Zangetsu, dead to the world, should have been the first clue that there is something wrong with this picture. But Kisuke tries not to think about that or how wrong this really is. He thinks that it is much worse to lust after his best friend's son. Desiring said son's zanpakutou is a somewhat different if strange story.

And he completely ignores the fact that Zangetsu, like all zanpakutou, is a reflection of his creator. His master. He is, in essence, Ichigo at his very core. The very foundation of the boy's soul. Anything Zangetsu feels, thinks, or experiences is reflected in Ichigo. And vice versa. For him to be willing to do… _this_ with Urahara Kisuke can mean only one thing: that Ichigo is also willing. That he wants this just as badly. That he needs to feel the slide of skin on skin, of another person – Kisuke – against him.

The only way to make it more obvious would be for him to put up a billboard.

But that thought flitters away as Zangetsu squeezes demonstratively. Kisuke pushes his back against the wall, using the leverage to wrap his legs around the taller spirit's waist. This puts their groins in contact, and he can feel the hard heat, even through the layers that separate them. One of the blond's arms circles around Zangetsu's neck, even as the other fumbles at the ties to their clothing.

The zanpakutou spirit buries his face in Kisuke's shoulder, licking and nipping at the exposed flesh. And Kisuke nearly moans as he manages to free their erections into the cool air of the room, both already seeping at the tip.

"Too long," he groans and wraps his fingers around Zangetsu's shaft. "Too fucking long."

A gentle bite attacks his neck, sending a shock through his system. "I concur," Zangetsu agrees, voice heavy and low. Wanting.

He rolls his hips, pinning Kisuke between himself and the wall and causing their groins to collide and rub in a rather erotic manner. A sense of reiatsu rises in the room, Kisuke's swirling and mixing with Zangetsu's. Which in all matters, is really Ichigo's. It is a heady feeling, and Kisuke's head falls against the wall, a pant escaping his lips.

Zangetsu chuckles against his throat, licking a long line to his ear. "The things I would do," he practically purrs, breath a hot wash over Kisuke's ear. One hand leaves the shopkeeper's ass, moving to wrap fingers around his arousal.

The statement is vague enough to pepper Kisuke's mind with all sorts of erotic images, and he groans, his arousal spiking along with his reiatsu. His hand moves faster over Zangetsu, the zanpakutou spirit rocking his hips with Kisuke's motions. It is as close to sex as they can get at the moment, as close as the ex-captain dares to ever do, but Kisuke is glad for it.

"Tell me," he murmurs and licks his lips as Zangetsu's thumb rubs over the tip of his arousal. Gray-green eyes lift to honey-brown, darkening with desire. "I want to hear it."

A beard rasps over his cheek, and Zangetsu smirks. "You make the most arousing sounds," he replies, fingers easily manipulating Kisuke into a higher state of want. "I wonder if I could invoke them with a little more... _aggression_."

Kisuke moans, Zangetsu having the amazing ability to say much without really saying anything at all. Just a simple insinuation is enough to color his mind perverted, and he entertains images that would make any porn video proud. Lust surges through his veins, coiling in his stomach and making his groin tighten in anticipation.

Their mouths meet again. A hot, wet kiss that makes a startlingly loud smacking noise in the silence of the room. Not that there is anyone to hear. Fingers stroke faster over Kisuke's arousal, and he pants, teetering dangerously close to the edge. Zangetsu's skilled tongue sweeps through his mouth, tangling with his own, and he feels the heady press of Zangetsu's reiatsu wash over him. Prickling at his skin and setting it afire.

Kisuke doesn't hear Ichigo moaning on the floor just behind him, but to Zangetsu, it is a pulse in his very being. He rolls his hips once more in a mimicry of the act they could've been doing, and the blond abandons his tenuous grip on his control. He shudders, moaning into Zangetsu's mouth as he spills himself between their bodies and all over Zangetsu's talented fingers. His own reiatsu spikes as he loses control, rolling across Zangetsu's skin in trickles of crimson power. He can feel the walls shake at the force of their combined spirit pressure.

Kisuke swipes his fingers over his partner, determined to drag Zangetsu down with him. And then, Zangetsu groans, the sound starting in his throat and trickling into their kiss. He breaks free from Kisuke's lips, burying his face in the shopkeeper's throat. And he pulses in Kisuke's grasp, orgasm dancing through him.

Panting, the ex-captain drops shaky legs from around Zangetsu's waist, glad for the wall to support his unstable footing. Zangetsu squeezes him lustfully, lapping once at Kisuke's throat before pulling back. Eyes still darkened with heat.

A sated smile flitters onto Kisuke's lips as he gratefully slumps against the wall. "And that is why we should do this more often," he murmurs, sweat damping his skin.

Zangetsu hums in his throat, lifting the blond's soiled hand to his lips and sucking at his fingertips. "I am but waiting on your courage, Kisuke." His tongue flicks across the pad of the shopkeeper's thumb, making him shiver in reawakening want.

Kisuke has every intention of saying something witty, something promising, but the edge of his senses waken with alarm. Two familiar reiatsu – Tessai and Orihime-chan – are approaching, the latter in a rather concerned state. Cursing under his breath, Kisuke meets Zangetsu's eyes. Then, the spirit dissolves into thin air. As always, all traces related to much of their activities vanish with them.

Time is never long enough, he remarks wistfully as he hurries to adjust his clothing and retrieve his hat from the ground. With a deft roll of the brim over his fingers, it returns to its rightful position gracing his head. His legs still feel a bit wobbly as he hurriedly crosses the room and flings open the door, just in time to prevent Orihime-chan from knocking frantically on it.

"Urahara-san!" she declares, eyes brimming with tears in her concern. "Is Kurosaki-kun alright? I should heal him right away!"

He steps aside and gestures the poor girl into the room where Ichigo is sleeping, rather peacefully. The wound isn't even serious, but he lets Orihime heal the boy anyway. It makes her feel better to be of use.

Tessai gives him a knowing look as he kneels on the other side of Ichigo, the soft orange glow of Orihime-chan's Shun Shun Rikka filling the room. Kisuke shrugs casually, dropping his hand to sneak one more lingering trace of fingers down Zangetsu's blade. He feels an answering pulse, barely present against his skin. And then, he excuses himself from the room, leaving Ichigo to their tender care.

'_Someday,_' he promises himself. Promises Ichigo.

Someday, he'll admit the truth. But until that time, stolen and dubiously acceptable moments are all he can have.

* * *

a/n: I really, really like this one. And someday, I will write a sequel to this. Someday.

I hope you enjoyed it as well. I'm still in my hiatus right now and I'm still taking requests. The chance for asking ends on April 21, 2009 so make sure to get those requests in before then.

Thanks!


	116. Rukia's Dating Service Aizen

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Aizen**

**Characters: Ichigo/Aizen, Rukia, Momo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, slight language**

**Words: 2252**

**Description: ****What else was he supposed to do when the evil overlord of Hueco Mundo shows up on his doorstep?**

* * *

Rukia, as only a temporary resident of the household, usually never bothered with things like answering the doorbell or the phone when it rang. Mostly because it was never for her and it was none of her business. Besides, Shinigami rarely used doors.

On a balmy Saturday morning, however, just before noon struck, she found herself wandering to the front door and answering the persistent guest. By the third ringing of the door bell, she assumed no one else was going to get it. Kurosaki-san was at the clinic, Karin off to soccer, and Yuzu presumably was helping her father. Ichigo, for his part, was asleep upstairs, and she didn't particularly care where Kon was.

Dragging herself off the couch and pressing pause on the movie she had been watching, Rukia wandered to the front door. She momentarily attempted to sense who could have been on the other side, but either the person could hide themselves well or didn't have any reiatsu at all. Probably just a salesmen then.

She opened the door.

"Good morning, Kuchiki-san. I received your invitation."

Her mouth dropped. Definitely not a salesman. In fact, Aizen Sousuke stood just outside the door, dressed in his finest and looking quite handsome.

Rukia blinked several times. "Invitation?"

And then, she remembered in a rather desperate moment sending Aizen a request to take Ichigo on a date in hopes of him finding true love. It appeared that the lord of Hueco Mundo was actually interested in the offer. Surprise, surprise.

"You actually came," she added, eyes widening with bewilderment. Honestly, she hadn't expected him to take her offer seriously.

Aizen smiled slowly. "Of course. I did send you an affirmative response. I can assume Kurosaki-kun is not ready yet?"

She momentarily panicked. "No, but he will be."

Rukia's thoughts were spinning in a thousand directions. At last! A date that might actually work. All her effort was coming to fruition, she was sure of it.

And Rukia herself smiled, already stepping aside to let Aizen wait inside rather than out front where their neighbors would look on in confusion. They thought the Kurosaki's were weird enough as it was.

Ichigo was going to be so surprised.

* * *

A sudden rush of air-conditioned air attacked Ichigo's body, propelling him out of sleep with little warning as his covers were whipped off of him. Blinking hazily and groping about for the missing sheets, he found them nowhere nearby and rolled over, instantly laying sight on Rukia. It was she who had stolen his sheets.

Bitch.

"What do you want?" he grumbled with a yawn as his fatigue washed over him. He'd been up half the night because of some experiment the geta-boushi wanted to run.

"Get up," Rukia barked at him, dropping his stolen sheets to the ground. "And take a shower. Get dressed. Hurry. We're on a schedule here."

Ichigo grabbed his pillow and flung it at her because sometimes that was the only way to shut her up. Unfortunately, she caught it, still grinning like a fool. He felt a bit concerned for his chastity, considering that gleam in her eyes.

"Schedule?"

He could have sworn that there was a twinkle, a sparkle of evilness surrounding her form. "Your date's here. You don't have much time."

Date?

Oh, hell no. Ichigo was through with her ideas of a date. Sitting up and raking fingers through his hair, he fixed her with a firm glare.

"No."

"No?" she repeated as she threw open his closet and pawed through his clothing like she had every right to do so. "You can't say no; he's already here."

Ichigo gritted his teeth, feeling them grind together. "I can and will. I'm not going, Rukia."

"And why not?" She whirled to face him and pulled a shirt out at the same time. Rukia gestured with one hand, flinging the fabric in all directions. "He went through all the trouble to come here."

"I don't care."

And with an angered – probably immature – flop, he tossed himself back on his bed, folding his arms behind his head. He contemplated returning to his nap.

She harrumphed loudly. Rukia tossed the shirt over the back of the chair and returned to the closet in order to locate a pair of matching pants. "You'd better." And there was a hint of threat in her voice, though what she thought to threaten him with Ichigo didn't know.

He should have realized that she would stoop this low. She'd blackmailed her own damn brother, after all. And even if it was for the sake of love, Rukia really was quite devious. And dammit, Ichigo was happy with his single life. He'd be happy with it forever if it meant he didn't have to suffer on anymore of these terrible dates.

Rukia really was more trouble than she was worth.

With an aggravated sigh and promising dire retribution later, Ichigo rolled off the bed and headed for the shower. If anything, it would at least give him a brief reprieve from the sound of her nagging voice. Rukia seemed to cheer her victory, still digging for a matching pair of pants.

Ten minutes later had him freshly scrubbed, nicely dressed, and fighting off Rukia who was trying to comb his hair flat against his head. He thwarted her attempts, threw the comb out the window and was shoved out of his own bedroom.

"Good luck!" Rukia called after him as he yawned and scratched at his throat, where his collar itched. He wasn't even sure he'd worn this shirt yet. "Enjoy the play!"

Grumbling under his breath about annoying Kuchiki and how fun it might be to strangle them, Ichigo descended the stairs and stepped into his living room. Only to come to a complete and surprised halt. For none other than Aizen Sousuke was standing there, waiting patiently with a gentle smile on his face.

"Err... Aizen?" Ichigo questioned tentatively, hoping he wasn't mistaking faces and this really was the evil overlord of Hueco Mundo standing in the middle of his house.

Aizen's gaze flickered over him before he inclined his head in approval. "You may call me, Sousuke, Ichigo-kun. It is only fair."

A bit stunned, and gaping like an idiot, Ichigo dropped down from the last step. "I... What... How is this possible?" Not only did he look like an idiot, but now he sounded like one, too.

The evil overlord didn't seem to mind and smiled patiently. "I received a charming little invitation from Kuchiki-san and acted accordingly. I hear that you are fond of Shakespeare?"

Did everyone know that? Was his appreciation that obvious?

Rubbing the back of his neck and catching a few straggling drops of water from his shower, Ichigo nodded. "Apparently so."

"Good. I bought tickets for Othello." Aizen – errm, _Sousuke_ – paused to glance at his watch. "It starts in fifteen minutes. We'll have to hurry."

Still a bit dazed, Ichigo could really only agree. True, he should have probably declined since Aizen _was _the enemy and there was this whole war thing going on. And well, a lot of what happened was Aizen's fault and he was trying to take over Soul Society. But he really wanted to see that play, and Aizen did go to all the trouble.

In the end, Ichigo left the house with Sousuke as they hurried to the theater. The traitor somehow managed to hail a taxi for them, though Ichigo strongly suspected that the possibly blond driver was actually Ichimaru in disguise. He kept grinning like an idiot. Luckily, they arrived in time, and true to fashion, Sousuke had prime seats, which must have cost him a good fortune. How much _did _evil overlord's make?

The wondering, however, was only a passing thought. In that moment, the curtain's rose, and Ichigo's attention was soon fully captivated.

It would later prove to be a very good show indeed.

* * *

After Othello came dinner. And after that, a short walk home. The mysterious Ichimaru-resembling driver had been dismissed at the end of the meal. Ichigo hadn't minded so much. He was feeling a bit too privileged with all the special treatment.

Not only that, he had been pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed the "date." Once he got past the whole "Aizen is my enemy and therefore evil incarnate," he found Sousuke to be an agreeable companion. He was intelligent and thoughtful, and it appeared that he too carried an interest in Shakespeare.

Sousuke was a very attractive man as well, being much easier to his eyes without those clunky glasses that Ichigo had heard so much about. And despite being the ultimate evil, he had such a nice smile. Rather than talking down to Ichigo, they shared a great conversation. It was much, much different than the usual disaster of Rukia's dates.

Ichigo had actually enjoyed himself.

The only issue remaining was whether or not he could get past the whole problem with being mortal enemies. And well, there was this tiny problem. The entire time, as they watched the show, ate a nice meal, and walked back to Ichigo's house, the substitute Shinigami felt as if he were being watched. Not just watched but avidly observed. Every motion that he made being seen by an unknown eye. He could feel it, sending shivers up his spine. But whenever he turned to look, he couldn't see anyone there. And he was certain it wasn't Rukia. They were so familiar that he would have been able to sense her reiatsu easily.

He'd commented to the feeling of being watched to Sousuke, and the overlord – perhaps not so much evil – had agreed with him. In fact, he'd gotten this weird twinkle in his eye that suggested he knew the identity of the perpetrator. But Sousuke wasn't sharing, and a part of Ichigo didn't want to ask. Especially if it turned out to be Ulquiorra. He simply didn't want to know.

Still, it was eerie.

The feeling did not fade, even as they stood on Ichigo's doorstep, the date drawing to its inevitable end.

"Okay, so I admit it," Ichigo began a bit sheepishly, his companion giving him a rather bemused expression. "This was better than I thought it would be."

Sousuke lifted a single eyebrow. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment?" he replied, and it was just a bit teasing.

"Yeah," Ichigo answered and then blanched a bit as he remembered most of Rukia's other set ups, which had been utter failures. "You have no idea what I've been through." And frankly, he never wished to speak of it again.

"The pleasure was mine."

And Ichigo realized suddenly that this was one of those moments. Like in all the movies and books and manga that his sister liked to read and impress upon Rukia. The atmosphere was there, and he was even expecting it. Sousuke seemed so inclined, and Ichigo found that he didn't really mind at all. In fact, it would be nice to finally get something out of all these terrible dates.

Ichigo licked his lips nervously. "Yeah, I had fun, too."

Sousuke leaned closer, placing one foot on the step and putting him at perfect height. "We should consider doing this again."

"Yeah, we should."

The overlord smiled a little wider and leaned closer. His eyes were very pretty this close. For the moment, Ichigo let him take the lead. He figured he would get his chance later. And dammit, the eyes in the back of his skull were really annoying!

"Aizen-taichou! Nooooooooo!" The fearful and alarmed cry rang through the night as Ichigo felt a sudden stirring of crazed reiatsu.

"Dammit, Hinamori! You're not ruining this!" And that was most definitely Rukia's voice.

Suddenly, the door to Ichigo's back flew open and said Kuchiki came barreling out, colliding midair with another person in a Shinigami's uniform who had been approaching from behind Sousuke. The two went flying, rolling across the ground.

Ichigo blinked. "What the hell was that?" he wondered aloud, shifting a little to get a better glimpse of the two grappling.

Rather than answer, Sousuke took that moment of distraction to kiss him. Ichigo felt himself blush to the roots of his orange hair, despite the kiss being mostly chaste. And it was over far faster than he would have liked it to be. Sousuke's lips were surprisingly soft, though the kiss had been firm.

Pulling back, Sousuke smiled genuinely at him. "There will be another date," he stated, as though there would be no argument.

Behind him, someone attempted to shout in protest. But it was garbled and immediately muffled by Rukia kneeing her belly.

"Yeah, sure," Ichigo replied, feeling a bit dazed. Were things always going to be crazy around him?

Sousuke chuckled a bit and then took a step back, a Garganta forming behind him with seemingly no effort at all. He glanced at the grappling Shinigami only once, a vague sense of fear entering his expression before he disappeared into the gate. It closed behind him just as the stranger broke free from Rukia's hold and dove for it. She was too late and went down under another fierce Kuchiki tackle.

"I worked hard for this!" Rukia was howling. "You're not going to screw it up!"

Ichigo, however, hardly noticed. He licked his lips and recalled that Sousuke smelled faintly of lemongrass and chocolate. Strange.

But worth it.

* * *

a/n: Mwa ha! I find it interesting that Aizen was winning the Rukia's Dating Service poll when I hadn't even posted this one yet. There's still another date to go before I start heading towards "second" dates and narrowing down the victors. Poor Ichigo!

Next week I return from my hiatus. Huzzah! I'll be coming back with a new story for you guys, _The Beautiful Lie_, of which the description can be seen in my profile as well as the progress of it and all my other upcoming fics.

Requests will end TODAY. So this is the final day to ask for anything. After that, I'll be closing them again.

Thanks everyone for your requests and your reviews! I hope you enjoyed!


	117. Not That Innocent

a/n: A mid-week update! Whee! And it's another one of those sexy, smexy, smutty ones guys! And once again, it's boysmut. It features Hitsugaya who, despite appearances, is of legal age. Enjoy!

**Title: Not That Innocent **

**Characters: Hitsugaya/Shuuhei, Matsumoto**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: boysmut , use of toys, language, lots of yaoi, light bondage  
**

**Words: 2155**

**Description: Prequel to **_**One Night Stand**_**. Shuuhei learns several lessons, only of which is to always lock one's bedroom door. **

**Dedication: For Ibelen, who wanted a Hitsu/Shuu with toys. **

* * *

Shuuhei's hands were tied to the bedpost. It wasn't an accident. He'd woken up like that. Bound to the bedpost by the wrist with what looked to be his own obi. He last remembered leaving it curled on the floor after removing his shihakushou.

He made a mental note to never sleep on his stomach again. Toushirou seemed to think that was an invitation of sorts. And he capitalized on it quite often. One would think Shuuhei would have learned by now. And warm lips pressed to the back of his neck. A hand traced down his side, fingers skipping over a couple of scars before palming his buttocks noticeably.

"Awake yet?" a very familiar voice questioned, practically purring in his ear.

Shuuhei was certain that if he ever told anyone of this, they wouldn't believe him. They'd all think he was the pervert here and not Toushirou. Even though it was Toushirou who had him bound to the bedpost. And it was Toushirou draped over his back, naked by all indications that Shuuhei could feel.

He shivered, skin prickling with interest. All traces of sleep were purged from his mind, replaced by a sense of absolute _want_. "Yeah," he responded, and it came out thick, heavy with desire.

Toushirou chuckled and drew back, leaving Shuuhei feeling somewhat bereft. "Thought so," he replied as he moved aside but still remained on the bed. One hand patted Shuuhei's ass. "Up."

He was trained. Just like a dog, Shuuhei noticed. Just the sound of that command making his body warm in anticipation. He felt a hand smooth down his spine as he rose to his elbows and knees, the sheet sliding down to puddle around his bent knees. A nail scraped lightly down his back, raising goosebumps over his skin. He sucked in a breath.

"Word on the street is that you're off tomorrow," Toushirou purred into his ear, tongue slipped out to curl against the shell of it. "Means I could keep you up all night if I wanted."

"Fuck," Shuuhei moaned, knowing just what those words implicated.

Toushirou chuckled darkly, fingers tracing down Shuuhei's cleft teasingly. "That's the idea."

Not for the first time did Shuuhei wonder just who this teasing person in his bed was. He had been shocked the first time Toushirou had become this sexual creature. Now... now, it just turned him on like nothing else. And he was glad that no one knew how Toushirou could be. Otherwise, he'd be fighting them off left and right.

The bed shifted as Toushirou leaned away from him, and Shuuhei turned his head, trying to see what his lover was doing. He heard the younger man digging around in one of the bedside drawers, where they kept their "toys," and it sent a wave of heat through his body. His cock leapt in interest, already rock-hard from earlier thoughts.

It was to be one of those nights – or mornings rather since he could just see dawn making an appearance beyond the edge of the curtain. Though waking up tied to the bed post should have been his first clue.

A jingle of chains, that of light metal striking itself, floated to his ears. Shuuhei's heart picked up a pace as he caught sight of a familiar item. And then, Toushirou was kissing him as his other hand deftly tweaked and plucked at Shuuhei's nipples, his desire rising as they hardened into buds. Toushirou's tongue slid into his mouth, tasting faintly like cinnamon toothpaste, and Shuuhei groaned into the kiss.

There was another jingle of metal before he felt the clamp around his nipples, Toushirou effectively distracting him with the kiss. Shuuhei hissed in pleasure, especially when his lover gave them a teasing tug. Toushirou released the clamps, setting the small weights on them to swaying. Every swing tugged on Shuuhei's nipples, and his body tingled with desire.

A moan slipped past his lips, his head falling forward. Toushirou's suddenly slick fingers slid down his back, pressing against each knobby spine and traveled lower. They dipped into his cleft teasingly, circling the rim but not entering.

Shuuhei had the realization that Toushirou was going to make him beg. And he was going to do it, too. Once he passed the point of no return, he didn't care what he said so long as he got his release.

Without having to be asked, Shuuhei obediently slid his knees a bit farther apart on the bed. Cool fingers tickled at his scrotum, weighting and squeezing lightly. Toushirou made a noise of appreciation, scraping his nails down the back of Shuuhei's thighs. The vice-captain's skin prickled, a shiver of want drizzling down his spine.

"Tease," he gasped.

"Of course," Toushirou replied, a smug note in his voice. His fingers quested again, wrapping around Shuuhei's arousal and giving it a few tugs.

Shuuhei arched his back, his wrists straining at his bonds. It felt so damn good that he desperately sought more. The weights swung from his chest, making a faint chime as they managed to knock into each other. A moan of desire slipped past his lips.

Behind him, Toushirou released an amused chuckle. There was a dip in the bed as Toushirou reached for something else, and then Shuuhei heard a rustle of fabric. Just as he turned to look, darkness fell over his eyes, and a soft cloth pressed against his face. He recognized this fabric in fact.

"Is this one of my scarves?" he asked, certain that he recognized the stitching he had glimpsed for a few seconds.

"Appropriate, isn't it?" Toushirou murmured hotly in his ear as he knotted the scarf behind his head. His tongue slipped out, curling around Shuuhei's ear.

"Pervert," the vice-captain retorted, but it was the pot calling the kettle because he felt himself grow harder. He licked his lips in anticipation, heat curling in his belly.

Toushirou pulled Shuuhei's ear between his lips, tugging on them before abruptly releasing him and shifting away. His sense of anticipation grew stronger, especially now that he couldn't see what Toushirou was going to do next. Shuuhei flexed his fingers as he waited, hearing the sounds of Toushirou rifling about in his toy drawer once more.

Shuuhei didn't even want to know how his lover had acquired the toys. The very thought of Toushirou walking into a sex store made his own face heat with embarrassment. To be fair, Shuuhei knew that he was probably entirely to blame for Toushirou's perversions. Most of it was his idea to begin with, though the captain was the best at putting it into action.

A kiss was pressed to Shuuhei's back, one of Toushirou's favorite places to caress, reminding him that this just wasn't about sex in the end. Not that Shuuhei had been worried. And then, he heard the sound of the oil bottle being flicked open. It was that much more arousing to hear than to see, especially since he didn't know what was going to happen next.

Something smooth and slick pressed against Shuuhei's entrance, and he forced himself to relax, a sneaking suspicion building inside of him. It coiled with interest, and he moaned lowly as Toushirou slowly pressed it into him.

"The best thing about this," Toushirou murmured, voice a sexy purr in the otherwise silence of the room, "is that it doesn't get tired. I could tease you all morning if I wanted to."

"You want to kill me?" Shuuhei exaggerated, the sensation of being filled radiating through his entire body. His muscles unconsciously clamped down on the object.

A kiss was pressed to his hip, teeth nipping gently. "Just tease you a little," Toushirou said against his skin, breath a warm and moist puff.

He felt the object withdraw and then push into him again very slowly. Shuuhei groaned, his body moving in unison with the toy. He was so hard that he ached, and he was certain he was dripping into the sheets. He didn't know how Toushirou had so much control because he felt as if he were going to combust.

Shuuhei thought himself on the urge of begging, his hands curling into fists around his bindings. The headboard rattled as he tugged on it, and his breath came in sharp gasps. While one hand pushed the toy into him, Toushirou's other hand was roaming ceaselessly, surprising him with flitting touches. The occasional tug to his nipples, where the light weights still swung with the rocking of his body.

And then, Toushirou flicked a switch. Shuuhei whimpered, a low curse filling the room. He heard the droning of a small motor, but mostly, he felt the slow vibration expanding through his nethers. Over and over, teasingly on that one spot, and he bit his lip, trying to hold back on the embarrassing cries. He really, really wanted to beg for Toushirou to fuck him. His pride was balking.

"Taichou!" Behind Shuuhei, the door slid open. "Time to get-- Whoa! What the hell?" The voice was shrill. And very feminine.

Definitely not Toushirou.

Shuuhei went absolutely still, entire body locking up in mortification as it was plainly obvious someone had just walked into the room without prior notification. And they were given a full view of what was a very private affair. He recognized that voice, too, and he knew that Toushirou did when the room's temperature dropped suddenly.

"Matsumoto!" his lover roared furiously, and the air smelled faintly of winter crispness. Toushirou had confirmed Shuuhei's suspicions.

She was still standing there because he hadn't heard the sound of her leaving, and Shuuhei felt an uncommon urge to cry. This was the most awkward position he could have been found in. And with his hands bound, his legs spread, and that thing up his ass, he didn't have anywhere to go. No way to hide himself. He hoped that she couldn't see his face, he really did.

"Sorry, taichou," Matsumoto said, and Shuuhei swore that he heard her squeal. "I didn't mean to interrupt." And yet, she didn't leave, still standing there and staring. "Wait... _Is that Hisagi?_"

Shuuhei groaned, hanging his head in utter embarrassment. He didn't even want to know how she could tell. He was just there, for all the world to see, and Toushirou was getting angrier. The temperature in the room dropped low enough that Shuuhei shivered, the heat stolen from his sweat-covered skin. He had the oddest feeling that Matsumoto was staring at him. It didn't help that the toy was still vibrating, and Shuuhei was forced to bite his lip to keep from releasing mortifying cries.

"Matsumoto! Get out!" Toushirou growled, and the bed shifted, as though he had every plan to get up and attack her if necessary. He was furious, but he was also suitably embarrassed, too. Never a good combination.

She giggled loudly. "Good catch, Hisagi!" Matsumoto called out to him and then practically bounced out of the room with one last parting shot. "Hurry up, taichou. You don't want to be late." The door slammed shut behind her.

Shuuhei considered crawling into a hole and dying. He really did. He would never live this down. Matsumoto was the biggest gossip this side of Seireitei, her only competition being Ayasegawa of the eleventh.

Behind him, Toushirou muttered something under his breath, and the temperature in the room rose just a little to a more comfortable level.

"Dammit. She's never done that before."

Burying his face in the pillow, Shuuhei said something, but it was muffled by the pillow. He was trying – and failing – to ignore the massive hard on that had somehow managed to survive the embarrassing encounter.

"What?"

Shuuhei's head whipped up, halfway dislodging the scarf. "Should've locked the door!" he nearly shouted and then abruptly yelped when Toushirou pinched one of his ass cheeks. His initial reaction was to tighten down on the toy, sending a shudder of want through him. Damn his libido. It wasn't practical in the slightest.

A palm slid over the tingling spot, as though to soothe him. And finally, Toushirou flicked the switch, taking out the toy and giving Shuuhei room to breathe. He hated that he still wanted his lover to push him down and fuck him silly. Anything to relieve the pressure that was building inside of him.

"Sorry," the captain murmured, rubbing his back soothingly and deftly untying the scarf from around Shuuhei's eyes. He leaned around him, kissing him fully. It didn't help relieve his libido in the slightest.

"Toushirou," Shuuhei moaned, the only coherent thing he could say at the moment. "Please."

And there went his pride. But Shuuhei no longer cared. He _hurt_.

Toushirou smiled, kissed him again, and then reached for the bottle of oil. "As you wish," he murmured.

And Shuuhei eventually gained his release. Though he was pretty damn certain he was never going to live this down.

* * *

a/n: This took me _forever _to write simply because I have a hard time connecting Hitsugaya and sex. He's cute and surly, but he's never been sexy to me, so it was very difficult to write. BUT, I'm very happy with how it turned out. Mostly because it amuses me.

Yay for mid-week updates. Hope you enjoyed and see you guys on Tuesday!


	118. This Inexplicable Fascination

**Title: This Inexplicable Fascination**

**Pairings: Ulquiorra/Ichigo (one-sided... for now) **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Mild spoilers, light gore  
**

**Words: 1493**

**Description: Without reason, without rationality, Ulquiorra finds himself an Espada possessed. **

**Dedication: To Lady Azar-sama, my beta, and the one who requested an Ulquiorra/Ichigo that wasn't rape. **

* * *

This was getting to be a habit.

A rather disgusting, annoying habit, and Ulquiorra was loathe to admit he even held it. He would like to blame Aizen-sama for it since it had been he who demanded Ulquiorra show him the boy in the first place. But everything afterwards had been his choice and his choice alone. Aizen-sama wasn't the reason he was currently digging fingers into his skull and pulling out his own eye.

With a dispassionate air, ignoring the stabbing pain that movement always produced, Ulquiorra crushed his own eye into a fist. He watched it dissolve into particles like a fine mist, nearly undetectable except for the faint slur of reiatsu it produced.

He waited with infinite patience as the air in front of him wavered and glimmered, a mirage against the harsh white of Las Noches' walls. And then, an image began to take shape, that of something he had witnessed more than a week beforehand. It didn't matter how long it had been. As long as his eyes had seen, he could watch again. And it bothered Ulquiorra that he was doing this once more. In fact, he felt rather disgusted with himself.

Yet, he didn't cease.

The replay solidified without sound but nonetheless effective for the image it displayed. The stark, black cloth of a Shinigami's shihakushou. The black, elegant blade, so much smaller than a typical bankai. Bright orange hair and determined, almost desperate brown eyes glaring up at him. Covered in blood, body aching, and entirely inferior. But trying to stand again and again nevertheless.

It bothered him, this fascination. He didn't know why he simply couldn't let that piece of trash lie alone. Nor did he understand Aizen's enchantment with the useless human. Or Shinigami. Or possibly Vizard. Ulquiorra wasn't even sure what Kurosaki Ichigo was. If he even was any of the three or a combination.

His remaining eye avidly took in the scene, however, watching as Kurosaki yelled and fought back relentlessly. Watched him spit blood onto the dirt. Watched Yammy pick him up and slam into the ground over and over. His body twisting and crashing against unforgiving earth. Blood running from his forehead and his zanpakutou out of reach, hopelessly outclassed. And yet, he didn't give up.

Why couldn't the brat learn something so simple as knowing when enough was enough? Where did he obtain something like determination? What drove him?

Ulquiorra didn't understand it. As much as he didn't understand why he was still here, watching this scene yet again.

He had seen the boy for himself, outside of that ordered meeting and after said occurrence. Had seen him going to school, mingling with the humans and the Shinigami. He'd seen Kurosaki continue with his daily life, the feelings of inferiority wracking him every day. He was bothered by his loss; Ulquiorra could see that much.

It occurred to him that his behavior could be distinctly labeled as stalkerish. This incessant need to understand was rapidly shifting out of his control. It would be easier if he could just tell himself that it was a decision Aizen-sama had made and leave it at that. The truth, however, was staring him in the face. Kurosaki was in no way worthy of Aizen-sama's interest. He was inherently useless. A strange aggregation of beings compacted into a human form. He would never be able to understand Aizen-sama's genius. And worse, he fought for the _Shinigami_.

Ulquiorra didn't want to admit that he hated Kurosaki for the regard given to him by Aizen-sama. The boy wasn't worthy of it, but he garnered it all the same. Interest that had once belonged to Ulquiorra now belonged to this boy. And the fact that he'd seen Aizen-sama watching him with expectation only made matters worse.

What could Aizen-sama see in him?

He amounted to less than a child. And even Yammy – an idiot with muscles for brains – could defeat him. Kurosaki wasn't high on the scale of importance. He didn't rank as even a blip on Ulquiorra's scale for danger. He was just there, an annoyance. A fly to be swatted. Easily ignored if necessary.

Ulquiorra wasn't ignoring him though. Instead, he was watching Kurosaki yet again, trying to find out what Aizen-sama saw. Attempting to see why Grimmjow was so worked up over him, even if the sixth Espada was just an idiot.

It bothered him immensely.

In front of him, the image rippled, and Kurosaki was replaced with the arrival of that annoying green-robed blond. Ulquiorra waved a hand, letting the image dissolve. He had no interest in Kurosaki's friends or even his teacher, only the teen himself.

There was a crawling sensation in his eye socket as the particles coalesced within the empty cavity. He endured the odd feeling, one he'd grown accustomed to, as he turned away from his room. His eye slowly returned as he moved into the hall, feeling a sudden need to wander away from the confines of his quarters.

It was late, but even so, Las Noches was not quiet. There was a sense of silence, but only if he didn't look closely. Somewhere beyond him, others trained either outside or in the special arenas. Szayel cackled crazily in his laboratory, creating some new and disgusting creature to add to his already mad collection. Stark was assuredly sleeping, and Halibel was likely in the library, curled around some book. The others were near enough he could sense their reiatsu, but Ulquiorra didn't care to try.

Aizen-sama was probably in the throne room again, a closed off presence as always. Standing high and lofty, far above them, as he deserved to be. The others – Ichimaru and Tousen – were in their own favorite locations, but Ulquiorra didn't care for them either. Only Aizen-sama.

There was a flash of orange and black in the corridor, and he embarrassed himself by following it with his eyes, both of them now. But it was only one of the weaker Arrancar, black-haired and gasping under a heavy weight wrapped in garish orange paper. He hated that for a moment something in him had stirred at the unexpected flash of color. Even if it were impossible for Kurosaki to be within Las Noches.

His mind helpfully supplied him with several images. Kurosaki's hair wasn't that much of a red anyway. The orange leaning more towards auburn-brown. And he was such a useless creature, unable to do anything. Even Yammy had easily defeated him. Trying to protect someone important to him and ultimately failing because he was so weak. Ulquiorra thought that he despised that the most. Kurosaki shouldn't hold anything close because he wasn't strong enough to protect it. That was the law of nature, the law of existence. Only the strong survived.

He and that fool Grimmjow were alike in that regard. Only Grimmjow knew better than to hold anything precious. It was too foolish of a notion. And yet, Kurosaki was determined to defy that simple law. In fact, he resisted every movement of the natural order.

It was just as bothersome as this random fascination.

Ahead of Ulquiorra, there was a sudden sense of tightly controlled reiatsu, powerful and brimming beneath the surface. Ulquiorra would know it anywhere. It carried pride on its shoulders and a strong determination with a will to back it up. It was a reiatsu that would soon rule all of the spirit worlds.

Straightening, Ulquiorra noticed immediately when Aizen-sama appeared ahead of him in the hall. He paused to let the lord pass.

"Good evening, Aizen-sama."

The former Shinigami halted momentarily, keen gaze flickering over the Espada. "Ulquiorra, it is unusual to see you out for a stroll." His eyes seemed to be evaluating, Aizen-sama never one to miss any clues.

"Perhaps if there was something you required of me, I could be occupied?" Ulquiorra posed, almost eager to have something to do. Anything to drive away the vile thoughts of Kurosaki Ichigo from his mind.

"Nothing at the moment unfortunately," Aizen-sama replied and went silent, only to suddenly smirk as if understanding had washed over him. "It is a good thing since you seem so occupied already."

Ulquiorra's brow furrowed, trying to interpret the vague statement, but then, Aizen-sama was already continuing the hall. Ulquiorra was left to his detestable thoughts, stewing in his recent fixation.

Somehow, he was certain Aizen-sama must have realized. Was it written so clearly on his face? And that look could have only meant one thing. Aizen-sama understood his recent troubles and obsession with the Kurosaki boy, a somewhat discomfiting thought.

Ulquiorra frowned deeply. He had to cease this behavior. This sort of habit would not be tolerated. Somehow, someway, he would have to purge this illness. And as soon as possible.

* * *

a/n: Mwa ha ha! This one will be continued eventually. I promised Azar I would. So there's more to this, as soon as I figure out what I want the next step to be (we might even see Stark, huzzah!)

With that said, I wanted to remind everyone that requests are CLOSED. I'm currently tackling my rather long and varied list and I successfully knocked out about seven of them the other day. Once I get the list to a more manageable level again, I'll reopen the requests. So if you missed the window again, fear not. Hold onto those ideas and I'm sure I'll reopen the requests later in the year. Thanks for everyone who participated!

There's a poll for Seireitei Monogatari on my profile. Check it out if you have the time.

See you next time!


	119. The Duality of a Man

**Title: The Duality of a Man**

**Pairings: Stark/Kira (onesided?), mentions of others **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boy/boy affections, language, spoilers**

**Words: 2134**

**Description: Vaguely related to 118. Izuru was the sort of conundrum that made a man want to peel back the layers, to find the truth behind his mask. **

**Dedication: For Yakumo, who wanted a Stark/Kira pairing. **

* * *

Stark thought that it was probably his eyes – so broken and yet so strong.

From the moment Ichimaru-sama had introduced Izuru to them, Stark had been captivated by those eyes. They drew him in, hypnotized him, until he couldn't ignore Izuru. Not even if he tried.

He knew this because Stark had actually made an attempt to do that very thing. In the beginning, he put as much distance between himself and Izuru as possible. He didn't want to think about the consequences of touching what was precious to Ichimaru-sama. And it had been easy enough, considering Izuru rarely left his captain's side. Following him around, looking perfectly sorrowful and content all at once.

Stark hadn't known such duality in emotion were possible until he met Izuru. The Shinigami had the oddest talent of managing to convey two feelings at once, smiling with eyes of sadness. Hints of longing mixed with loathing. Strength wrapped in a facade of weakness.

And it was his eyes that were the best at this, looking so hopelessly lost and desperately determined. It was the sort of conundrum that made a person want to peel back the layers, to find the truth behind those double emotions.

His avoiding, however, hadn't been enough. His thoughts were magnetically drawn to the quiet blond, and somehow, he had ended up as Izuru's guide to life in Las Noches. He still wasn't sure how that happened. Ichimaru's smirk as he all but pushed Izuru in Stark's direction was pretty telling, too. He never would understand that guy.

From there, they had become friends of a sort. Izuru was a truly pleasant person, intelligent and charming. And Stark couldn't really dislike him the same way he disliked the Shinigami. In fact, Izuru rarely addressed himself as one, and he all too eagerly changed into Aizen's choice of outfit for him. Which didn't help Stark's interest much as Izuru looked so damned cute in it.

Even so, with all the time they spent together, should Ichimaru call for him at any moment, Izuru was quick to excuse himself. It was pretty damn clear that the only person he needed or wanted was his precious captain.

And those eyes, they always looked to Ichimaru and only to Ichimaru. Every time Izuru was summoned, Stark could see Ichimaru glance back at him. As if mocking him for an interest he hadn't realized was so obvious. He hadn't realized Ichimaru to be that cruel. To practically throw Izuru at him and then steal him back time and time again, just to taunt the Espada with something he shouldn't bother desiring.

It wasn't like Stark hadn't already known he shouldn't try. He had made every attempt to chase Izuru from his thoughts. But he dreamt of those eyes. At night. During the day. All the time. He saw them in his sleep and when he was awake. He would unconsciously search for Izuru at mealtimes or when he wandered Las Noches. It was an obsession, almost as bad as Ulquiorra's recent fixation on the Kurosaki brat.

And without realizing, he began to dislike Ichimaru, even more than he had before. There had always been something about the man that set him on edge, shot a shiver of unease down his spine. The way he crept out of the shadows and seemed to mock everyone with that damned grin. The only person he respected was Aizen, and it showed.

Stark had been surprised to find that someone actually respected Ichimaru. As far as he knew, none of the Arrancar liked him either. And yet, the former captain had appeared with this beautiful blond randomly on his arm, and not only did this kid not seem to mind, his eyes held a mixture of emotions for his captain. Adoration. Longing. And something else seething beneath the surface, something more negative.

Stark wasn't sure what to think.

Either way, the more he watched Izuru, the more Izuru watched Ichimaru. And it bothered him. It took weeks for Stark to realize just exactly what the poisonous feeling growing inside of him was. Jealousy, that green beast, growing stronger with each passing day.

It became suddenly clear that he what wanted was for Izuru to look at him and only him. For the gaze that Ichimaru possessed and seemed to care nothing about. Stark wanted it to fall on him. He wanted Izuru's regard to be his and his alone.

He quickly learned, however, that while he could be Izuru's friend, it was incredibly difficult to monopolize his attention. In fact, it was damn near impossible to shift his attentions away from Ichimaru and onto anyone else. Not that Stark didn't try. But he couldn't understand what it was about Ichimaru that Izuru admired. Why he would follow this man, who no one else even liked.

Despite himself, confusion turned to a desire to know, and the question slipped out before he could entirely stop it. Surprising him as much as it perplexed Izuru.

"What's so special about him?" Stark demanded suddenly, voice echoing around the cold loneliness of Hueco Mundo's vast desert.

Las Noches was only a burst of sonido away, a white structure looming against the black. Stark felt confined within those walls, and when he wasn't sleeping, he liked to roam away from all the white and the fake blue sky that could never be a match for the real one.

Perched on the ground below him, leaning against the rock that served as the Espada's perch, Izuru blinked. "What do you mean, Stark-san?"

"I'm talking about Ichimaru." Stark folded his arms behind his head, gaze momentarily locked on the single pallid moon. "Why is he so worthy of your admiration?" His eyes shifted down to look at the back of Izuru's head, at the graceful curve of his pale neck, bared slightly by his position.

Izuru tilted his head to the side, giving Stark a glimpse of the side of his face and the faint flush that stained his cheeks. "I'm not sure if I would call it admiration."

"What _would_ you call it then?"

Stark really couldn't explain this desperate desire to know. He assumed it was connected to that odd need to make Izuru his own, that strange fixation. If he could understand, maybe he could find some way to break this connection. Perhaps that was his logic.

"Hmm." A serious sense filled their conversation, where it was usually light and cheery. "Not quite love but not quite hate either. I owe taichou very much."

If that wasn't vague, Stark wasn't sure what actually was. "For what?"

Another long pause, as though Izuru had to think deeply about it. He caught the gleam in Izuru's eyes, one that shifted so quickly from one emotion to the next. It was almost fond, but it was also despised.

The faintest of smiles tugged at his lips, Izuru's fingers plucking at the white fabric of his hakama. "Everything."

Stark furrowed his brow, wishing he had some sort of translation guide. "Is that why you followed him here?"

"Yes and no."

He carefully tucked a strand of blond hair behind his ear. Stark thought it was such a shame he hid behind those long locks. He should consider cutting it.

"I can't stay with the Shinigami anymore. I don't belong there."

"But you belong here. With him." He tried – and failed – to remove the distaste from his voice. The more time he spent with Izuru, the more he learned to hate Ichimaru. Much of Izuru's existence seemed to be based on the Shinigami traitor, and Stark couldn't stand that. In fact, he loathed it and by proxy Ichimaru.

Izuru didn't answer his question. Admittedly, it was a rude query. Stark didn't press since that would have likely driven Izuru away. Besides, he didn't like the expression on Izuru's face, one of mixed discomfort and relief. He wished he could understand him.

Sighing, Stark sat up on his rock, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. "I don't understand, Kira."

"Izuru."

He hesitated. "Huh?" Ever so eloquent. Sometimes, Stark surprised himself.

Izuru shifted around to look at him, those eyes for once meeting his. "You can call me Izuru. If you want, Stark-san. We're friends, aren't we?"

It was almost shaming that his first thought was a sense of inestimable pride at that offer. The only other person in Hueco Mundo who called him that was Ichimaru, and he always made it sound cutesy. Degrading. And yet, Izuru never protested, just endured and enjoyed the attention.

Still, the fact that Izuru had called him a friend was valuable, too.

"Only if you drop the honorific."

Izuru winced, almost as if it would pain him to do so. "Very well," he agreed, rising to his feet with a graceful motion. His hands casually swiped bits of sand from his clothes.

Grinning, Stark slid down from his rock with a lazy stretch of his arms and an audible popping of the bones in his back. "See? I'm not so bad, am I?"

"I never said you were."

He scratched at his goatee. "True. But you only ever have eyes for Ichimaru."

Honestly, he hadn't met to say that, but it slipped out before he could stop it. Smooth-talking Stark always stumbled over himself around Izuru. He couldn't understand why.

"Does it seem like that?" Izuru asked.

And suddenly, Stark realized that Izuru was looking at him in that moment. Only him. There was no one else around.

It was just the two of them in this lonely expanse, surrounded by bleached sands, an abysmal sky, and a rock. He wondered why in all his gazing he'd never noticed the exact shade of Izuru's eyes. Or just how direct they could be, staring both at and through him without hesitation.

He didn't really know what he was doing. But Stark moved closer, and Izuru either expected nothing or didn't realize what the Espada was doing either.

"Yeah, it does," he answered, and without warning, without any real plan in mind, Stark leaned down the few inches necessary to close the distance between them. He hovered for all of a second in indecision before pressing his lips over Izuru's, kissing him gently.

Izuru didn't resist, and Stark didn't give time to respond either before he was pulling back. Part of him felt a bit embarrassed by the abrupt action.

"But maybe not so much anymore," he added, trying to cover up the sudden thunderous beat of his heart. Was it nerves? Had he been anxious?

As always, Stark wasn't sure what to think.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting nonchalance as he turned away from Izuru, body pointed towards Las Noches. He almost didn't want to see the look in those eyes, certain there would be duality. Interest and disgust? Anger and happiness? Or worse, nothing at all. No reaction because he wasn't Ichimaru and only Ichimaru mattered. He was a coward, afraid to look.

"It's getting colder. We should probably head inside." The brief brush of cool air was merely an excuse. Foregoing sonido, he thought he would walk to the door.

Yet, he received no answer from Izuru. The former Shinigami was noticeably quiet, not that he was usually a talkative fellow.

Stark paused, turning to glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of Izuru, fingertips to his lips and staring at the white sand. The small blush on his cheeks was quite endearing, making Stark's heart do that annoying loud beat again.

"Izuru?"

Damn, it felt good to just say his name.

He startled and glanced up, as if suddenly realizing just where he was. "Yes, I'm coming." He trotted forward a few steps to catch up to Stark, who was watching him closely.

"Just so you know," Stark said, telling himself that he really was more composed than this as he started back towards Las Noches. "That was me telling you that I like you."

"I noticed."

He didn't look but knew Izuru was watching him again. He could feel the weight of the blond's gaze.

Suddenly, Stark felt a bit like laughing. It was a perfectly Izuru response, not quite accepting but dismissing either. Acknowledged and nothing more. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or disappointed, contradictory responses.

Maybe Izuru was rubbing off on him.

* * *

a/n: This one went everywhere and nowhere, and then, I left you on a cliffhanger. Hah. What am I going to do with myself?

Still, I hope you enjoyed. I've been seeing a lot of interest in this pairing, so there may be more in the future. Thanks!


	120. Anywhere but Here

a/n: SMUT ALERT! Between two men at that. If you don't want to read about two guys getting hot and sticky with each other, skip this chapter. Though it begs the question as to what you're doing reading my stuff. *grins* Enjoy!

* * *

**Title: Anywhere but Here**

**Pairings: Ichigo/Grimmjow**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: boysmut, massive spoilers, foul language**

**Words: 3619**

**Description: Sequel to _All the Same_, part of the Gravitation series. He doesn't really know what they're doing, what **_**he's **_**doing, but Grimmjow's gonna do it all the same. **

* * *

"_Where is the space I could move; where could I rest my head? There's nothing left for me here. It's hard to leave behind, the one thing that made me feel alive. So I slide from paranoid to paralyzed." _

Anywhere but Here by Sick Puppies.

* * *

He awakes to a mouth as dry as paper, as though he's been sucking on sand for the last few weeks. His eyes feel gummed shut, and it takes several tries to open them. Only to immediately wish he hadn't. It is too damn bright here, wherever here is. It is nothing like the darkness of Hueco Mundo with its constant black night and pale moon. Grimmjow groans, slapping a weak hand over his eyes to block out the blinding brightness.

"You're awake."

He starts at the unexpected voice, bolting into a sitting position as his every sense goes on alert. Again, he regrets the action when several injuries start protesting the motion by sending out flares of heated agony. Grimmjow groans and slumps as his entire body is overcome with the feeling of being stabbed all over again.

A hand reaches out and smacks against his forehead, pushing him onto his back with very little effort. "Idiot," the voice chastises. "You're goin' to ruin all of Tessai's work."

He hits the blanket beneath him and decides it's in his best interest not to get back up. "Who the fuck is Tessai?" Grimmjow demands, dropping his hand from covering his face and looking into brown eyes.

Uncomfortably, angrily, furiously familiar brown eyes. That damn _Kurosaki_. He should have known the brat is a stupid bleeding heart.

"The guy who saved your life," the kid answers and shoves him down with another palm. "So lie still while I make sure you didn't fuck up his work."

Grimmjow wants to argue, but Ichigo is prodding at one of his wounds. It hurts like hell. So he just grits his teeth and lets the brat look his fill.

"Can't keep yer hands off me, eh, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo sticks a finger in one of his injuries in answer, and Grimmjow hisses, reaching up to strike out at the annoying brat. He easily dodges the half-hearted blow, smirking at him.

"Got pretty tore up, didn't you?" Ichigo mocks as he peels back the layers and reveals the slices in all their freshly healed glory.

"Shut up," Grimmjow growls, hating himself for lying here and taking this. But really, hating Ichigo more for dragging him out of Hueco Mundo to wherever here is.

Ichigo just smirks and pokes around at his bandages some more. Then, he's slapping something cool and tingling over the injuries, slathering it all over and managing to chase away some of the pain. Grimmjow realizes as the brat starts to wind new wrappings around the wounds, that Ichigo must have been there the whole time. Watching over him.

It makes him uneasy.

"What the hell didja do that for?" Grimmjow demands, forcing himself to sit up despite Ichigo's glare. He'll be damned if he catches himself actually listening to the fucker's wishes.

Tightening the last knot, Ichigo frowns, smirk shifting back into his usual scowl. "Do what, asshole? Try bein' clear for once."

"You know what I mean. Don't play stupid." Grimmjow's own eyes narrow as he gingerly tests his limbs, which don't feel as weak and shaky as they had in Hueco Mundo. He wonders how long he was unconscious and how he'd gotten here.

"No, that's more your specialty," Ichigo returns without an ounce of pause, snorting derisively. He idly tosses a few things over his shoulder, including the soiled bandages, towards a pack that is half-open and somewhat spilling out its contents.

They are somewhere empty, Grimmjow can tell that much. Surrounded by rock and the brightness of a sky that gives him the same feeling as Aizen's fake blue one. He just doesn't know where the hell Ichigo has taken him.

"Shut up," Grimmjow snarls, recognizing an insult when he hears one. He feels like he's being pitied, and Grimmjow really hates that. "Ain't saving me against some Shinigami code?"

Ichigo rolls his shoulders dismissively. "Probably."

He doesn't offer up any other sort of explanation, and for some reason, it makes Grimmjow see red. He feels fury bubbling up inside of him, most likely fueled by all the other emotions that have become his existence in the past fortnight. Lingering sensations of loneliness, of self-pity. Annoyance and hatred, regret, all of it hanging over him and whispering in his ear while surrounded by the emptiness of Las Noches.

He remembers trudging relentlessly through the white sands of Hueco Mundo, fighting Hollows when they crossed his path and trying to keep his blood in his body rather than out as it seemed to prefer. Grimmjow can recall the last two weeks with stark clarity, though bits and pieces still try to haze past his reason. He remembers that the last thing on his mind had been Kurosaki Ichigo, and the look in his brown eyes.

For some reason, it all pisses him the fuck off. And he wants to respond to that anger in the only way he knows how. Violently. Rudely. Recklessly. It doesn't even make sense, but he thinks that if he doesn't let it out, he might just fall apart even more than he already has. It's Ichigo's damn fault anyway. He had to go and play the hero again.

"You're some sort of martyr, aren't ya?" Grimmjow growls, hands curling into angered fists, even if he doesn't really understand why. "It's your kind that really pisses me off."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ichigo looks at him, straight at him, and there's confusion on his face, though a hefty dose of irritation is starting to creep in.

"I didn't ask for yer fucking help, _Shinigami._" Grimmjow sneers, only seeing himself, seeing his pathetic position. Pitied by the Shinigami.

How low could he get? Saved by the Shinigami? Even lower?

Ulquiorra would have been amused by this, if he were still alive. But like everyone else, Ulquiorra's dead. And Grimmjow should be, too. Were it not for Ichigo and his kami-bedamned pity.

"Well, too bad, because you got it," Ichigo retorts sharply, face flushing with a hefty dose of rising anger. "You're the dumbass who got knocked out by a level one kidoh!"

Hissing angrily and paying no mind to his own injuries, Grimmjow doesn't think. He reacts. A fist tunnels through the air as he takes a wild swing, which is easily dodged considering his rather sorry state. His pride is a wounded, snarling beast, and Ichigo is an easy target. Grimmjow doesn't do gratitude.

"I hate you," he snaps, ignoring his precarious balance in favor of another wild throw of his fist.

Ichigo grabs his arm, pushing it away from him. Brown eyes are smoldering, flashing with fury.

"The feeling's mutual, bastard!" Ichigo snarls.

And then, Grimmjow isn't sure what happens next. He doesn't know who started it – he or Ichigo – he just knows that they're kissing. Or perhaps that isn't the right word for it.

They are fighting with their lips, rough nips with their teeth against soft flesh. A fierce pressure of mouth on mouth, and Ichigo's tongue trying to push against his as Grimmjow's tongue fights back. He can taste whatever it was that Ichigo ate last, something both sweet and sour, and the sharp tang of blood flavors the kiss. He thinks he might have bitten his own lip.

Grimmjow's hands clench tightly on Ichigo's shoulders, and he tries to push the teen to the ground, but Ichigo's not willing to go down easily. One hand grabs Grimmjow's hip, and a knee tries to knock aside his legs. Grimmjow fights the motion, and they end up losing their balance, toppling over with little grace. Their heads knock together. Grimmjow mutters a low curse, a stirring in his blood unlike anything he's felt before.

He's tumbled a woman or two; there were some pretty Arrancar in Aizen's army. Useful for a night or three, something to end the boredom or relieve tension. And he always felt satisfied in the end. But it was nothing like this. Frantic. Furious. Hot and heavy. Hands grabbing and twisting, the two of them rolling over and over on the ground, no longer even on the blanket. Their lips part at some point, and Grimmjow briefly misses the tangle of their tongues. The feel of the hot air from their mouths colliding and mingling.

Grimmjow feels a rock digging into his side, and one of his injuries breaks open under the roughhousing. But the pain is nothing. He can't even feel it. He's too busy trying to rip off Ichigo's clothes and pin the brat beneath him all in the same breath. The damn obi is too complicated, the knot drawing tighter despite his best efforts, and he gives up, shoving his hands through the slit in Ichigo's hakama and pawing about relentlessly.

Ichigo reciprocates by shoving a palm over Grimmjow's groin, muttering something under his breath. Grimmjow's blood is rushing through his veins, and there is a sound crashing in his ears, he can't hear anything. He tastes blood and grit and sweat and sees flesh near his mouth. A bared shoulder, collarbone visible just so, and he can't help himself. He licks a hot line across the tanned flesh, tasting more sweat.

Ichigo makes a sound. Grimmjow doesn't know what it is except that it's pretty damn sexy, especially when his searching fingers finally find hard flesh within the brat's hakama. He doesn't hesitate, dampness streaking across his palm before he manages to wrap fingers around Ichigo. The teen groans long and hard, and Grimmjow smirks.

They're on their sides, limbs entangled, having given up on dominance over one another. Grimmjow doesn't care anymore. He's got a rod in his pants that needs relief, and the more Ichigo rubs down on him, the worse it gets. Grimmjow pants, hearing his own breathing, rapid and harsh. _Desperate_.

Ichigo doesn't sound any better.

His hips jerk of their own accord as Ichigo strokes him through his clothing, somehow erotic. Enough that Grimmjow can imagine what it would be like to feel Ichigo's bare skin on him. He thinks about it, imagination fueled by the sounds Ichigo is making as he strokes his fingers faster and faster over the brat's own shaft. Those little noises are more frequent, and Ichigo curses under his breath. So does Grimmjow, but he hardly notices.

All he knows is that he wants with a desperation he doesn't understand. There's something pent up inside of him, begging to be released. He clamps down on the bare skin near his mouth, probably harder than he should. Ichigo hisses, squeezing reflexively, and Grimmjow shudders, releasing into the confines of his own pants. It's hot and messy and sticky, spilling everywhere. But damn if he doesn't care. Pleasure is streaking through his entire body as he pants and practically writhes beneath the teen's fingers.

His own hand is no less busy. Grimmjow laps wetly over the bite mark, one impression oozing just a little. The sharp, coppery taste of blood dances on the tip of his tongue, coloring the encounter. Ichigo's free hand grabs his arm. Squeezing tightly, almost bruisingly. A finger digs into one of Grimmjow's wounds, and he snarls, but Ichigo doesn't notice.

The kid draws in breath through his teeth, tightly clenched. And throwing his head back, he arches his hips and climaxes, covering Grimmjow's hand in his sticky release. He wonders why he doesn't seem to care as the last of Ichigo's tremors leave him, and Grimmjow wisely retracts his hand.

They fall apart from each other, panting against the dry and dusty ground. Grimmjow can feel the blood seeping from one of his reopened wounds, and his hand is sticky, dirtied by Ichigo's release. He lifts a hand, curiously sniffing the substance. He doesn't quite have the balls to lick it though and just rubs it off on his pants. They can't get any dirtier anyway. He can feel his own cum squishing about in his likely borrowed hakama. It's uncomfortable, though he can hardly tell thanks to the pleasure still thrumming through his body.

It's a strange moment, this aftermath. And though the inexplicable rage has bled out of Grimmjow, he's still left with confusion. He's never tumbled a male before, never really thought about liking one and especially not the brat. But the proof lies sticky against his groin and the fact that he's not utterly disgusted.

"Now what, bastard?" he asks and considers it somewhat polite as he's managed not to grind it out or make a demand.

A wind stirs out of nowhere, brushing against his half-dressed and sweat-sticky skin. He probably stinks like shit, all things considered. Good thing his nose isn't working too well at the moment.

Ichigo snorts and barely twitches. "Don't ask me. You started it."

"You kissed me first."

"And you attacked me."

"But you went looking for me."

"And you never even thanked me," Ichigo retorts and rolls his head to the side, darkened eyes gleaming with a mixture of slaked lust and brimming annoyance. "Ungrateful shit."

Funny, Grimmjow still doesn't feel an inch of gratitude. He can't decide whether he would have preferred dying or if that bit of absolute defeat isn't acceptable. "If ya wanted thanks, ya shouldn't bothered looking, brat."

"Ichigo."

"The fuck?"

The teen scowls and lazily swats a hand at him, the back of his palm hitting against Grimmjow's barely clothed hip. "My name's Ichigo. Not brat. Or bastard. Or any of your other pet names."

Grimmjow snorts, swirling a finger into his ear. "Stupid name."

"And yours is any better?" Ichigo attempts to elbow him, but he doesn't try very hard and his aim falls far off. Instead, he looks down at himself and grimaces. "You made a mess."

Why isn't this more awkward? Grimmjow wonders this as he glances down at his own soiled state, and the blanket that's more than ten feet away. He and Ichigo are little more than enemies. They hate each other. Shouldn't there be something more like unease?

He grunts, shifting a bit and hating the squish in his pants. "So did you."

Rolling his eyes, Ichigo hauls himself to his feet and reaches down, grabbing Grimmjow's arm. With very little effort, he pulls the former Espada to his feet, ignoring Grimmjow's pained curses. He allows the manhandling because he's too tired and dirty to care otherwise.

"You're too damn heavy," he complains, fingers locked tightly around Grimmjow's upper arm. He gives a tug and pulls Grimmjow away from the soiled location.

It takes several seconds for Grimmjow to realize where they are going. Steam curls slowly over a depression in the rocky outcrop, some kind of hot springs in the ground. Ichigo's intentions are pretty damn obvious. But Grimmjow's having none of it.

He digs his heels into the ground, finally putting up a protest. "Hell, no. I don't do water."

Ichigo smirks at him, all self-righteous. As usual. "Just like a cat," he remarks, though it seems more like teasing.

It doesn't even faze him that Grimmjow's resisting. He gives a sharp tug to the former Espada's arm, and with a sneaky trip, he shoves Grimmjow forward, sending him face first into the warm water. He has all of a second to hate Ichigo's guts before he is instantly soaked and bogged down, especially since he is still wearing his hakama.

Grimmjow immediately surfaces, spitting out the water he's accidentally swallowed and pinning the teen with an indignant stare. "Bastard," he growls as he flounders a bit. He tries to catch his footing and remove the clinging fabric all in the same motion. "You're going to pay for that." He finally manages to get his hakama off but still hasn't found his feet.

"Promises, promises," Ichigo returns, shoving at him with a foot and pushing him right back into the water.

As Grimmjow flounders a bit more, releasing a string of nonsense syllables, Ichigo calmly drops the layers of his own clothing and slips down into the warm and almost tingling waters himself. He really hates that kid, Grimmjow realizes. A growl edging its way out of his throat, he surges forward, fully intending on attacking Ichigo. Payback is absolutely necessary.

A washcloth is immediately shoved in his face. "You're filthy," Ichigo says and leaves him no choice but to take the damn rag.

Grimmjow snatches it out of his hand. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he demands, and it's absolutely not sulking.

The water must be medicated or something because his nose twitches at the bitter and metallic scent to it. Not to mention it stings over his wounds, and his skin prickles as though it's pulling itself together. A quick peek informs him that all of the smaller scratches are gone, smoothed over as if they never existed. It gives him an overwhelming sense of fatigue, but it feels pretty damn good, too.

"I'm dirty, too," Ichigo comments offhandedly, reaching for his own washcloth and scrubbing it over the streak of dirt on his face.

"Idiot, that's not what I'm talkin' about." Sometimes, Grimmjow really feels like strangling this kid. No, wait, that's all the time. "Why'd ya bring me here?"

There's a moment's pause, and then, Ichigo shrugs. "I could have left you to die," he replies and looks up at Grimmjow with those damn sympathetic eyes. "I didn't feel like it. Besides, weren't you the one that wanted to fight again?"

It looks, sounds, and smells a lot like pity. Even feels like it. And if there's one thing Grimmjow hates, it's being pitied. Though he hates the bastard, he and Nnoitra were alike in that regards. There's nothing more demeaning than seeking strength and power, only to be pitied. That fake understanding. That "poor Grimmjow; he can't help it." Grimmjow can't stand it. He isn't some fucking charity case.

With a sneer, Grimmjow chucks the washcloth at Ichigo's face and reaches for the sides, trying to haul himself out of the water. "Fuck you," he snarls, water splashing noisily around him. "I'm getting' the hell out of here."

"Suit yourself." Ichigo doesn't even try to stop him. "We'll see how far you get when Soul Society starts looking for you."

Grimmjow pauses, considering. He won't back down, he decides. No matter what Soul Society and the fucking Shinigami think they're going to do to him. He'll die before he puts himself in their hands. No matter what Aizen's defeat is supposed to prove.

"Che. I ain't afraid." With a final heave, he pulls himself out of the pool and instantly feels eyes on his back.

They are no doubt tracing scars and finding the number six that is still so prominent against his skin. Grimmjow wants to scrape it off with his own fingers because it means nothing now. But he also wants to keep it because he worked damn hard to get that far, and no one can take that effort away from him.

Fucking Aizen lost. How is that even possible? Grimmjow doesn't know because he was unconscious for a good bit of what happened. He'd woken hours after his battle with Ichigo, amid the ruins of Las Noches. He'd found nothing there but increasing evidence that their side had lost.

Biting his lip, Grimmjow stands on the edge of the pool, not caring for his nudity. He still has the bandages, though they're unnecessary at this point. He rips them off and lets them slide to the ground in a damp slither. Ichigo makes a whole lot of sense, though he doesn't want to admit it. He really has nowhere else to go.

"What the hell do you expect me to do?" Grimmjow demands, but he doesn't look at Ichigo because he doesn't want to see those damned eyes. "You're the one that saved me." He hates having to admit that. "Take responsibility."

Silence descends, save for the sound of water splashing. Grimmjow should feel cold, considering he's naked and all, and Ichigo is staring at him. And he's reminded that just a few minutes ago, they were rolling around like a couple of dogs in heat, hands on each other's cocks. That should probably feel a bit weird, too, but it doesn't. And he'll be damned if he knows why.

"Do whatever you want, Grimmjow," Ichigo finally answers. "You've got that option now. Though I'd recommend staying under Soul Society's radar."

Grimmjow feels an unhealthy urge to run, and even more unhealthy desire to stay. "What if I want to fight ya every day?"

"Sounds boring, but whatever. Time and place." There is a splash, and he suspects Ichigo is ducking his head under the water before surfacing once more. "You can stay here; no one'll bother you 'cept me or Renji."

What is it that binds them, he wonders. Why can't he just walk away from Ichigo without even a backward look? Why does he, even now, want to pick up his sword and attack the kid? Why does he want to kiss him again?

It's all the same to Grimmjow.

Where has that prior desire to surrender gone?

"Fine," Grimmjow says, as though he's making some great acquiescence for Ichigo's sake. "I'll stay." He glances over his shoulder, tossing the teen a fanged smirk. "But only 'cause ya begged me to."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, almost smirking. And Grimmjow thinks to himself that he doesn't have anything better to do. Aizen's gone. Ulquiorra's dead. Everyone's dead, and he's all that's left. He can't just lie down and die. He's definitely not giving himself up to the Shinigami. Best thing for now is to stay here and try to figure out what's going on.

Grimmjow isn't defeated just yet.

* * *

a/n: I'm particularly proud of this one. I have a much better grasp on Grimmjow than I do on Ulquiorra. This one just... flowed naturally.

I hope you liked it, too.

Thanks for reading!


	121. An Unexpected Date

**Title: An Unexpected Date**

**Characters: Hitsugaya, Unohana**

**Rating: K+**

**Warnings: Language**

**Words: 745**

**Description: Funny, Toushirou couldn't remember sending such a letter. **

**Dedication: For Uchiha Mikomi, who wanted a sequel to **_**Wanted: Male, Single, Captain**_**. **

* * *

"Excuse me?" Toushirou's left eyebrow twitched. He was so certain that he had heard his fellow captain wrong.

Across from him, Unohana Retsu smiled pleasantly, her hands curled daintily around a teacup that he'd managed to scrounge from somewhere. "If you don't have a preference, I would be more than happy to choose for you, Hitsugaya-taichou."

"Preference for what?" he asked, trying and failing not to sound perturbed. His eyebrow quivered but didn't quite twitch again.

She was confusing the hell out of him. Showing up in the middle of his busiest day and asking him if he'd decided their plans or not. He didn't even know what she was talking about!

"Something authentic might be nice," the healer continued, gaze drifting around his office and taking in his unusual décor – Matsumoto's handiwork and not his. "Or the festival in the second district. I hear that it's rather lively."

Toushirou worked his jaw for several moments as he wished that he could make sense of the situation. "Unohana-taichou," he began with slow and careful enunciation so as not to leave any room for misinterpretation, "if you would kindly explain to me what you are talking about, maybe I could actually _answer_ you."

Her eyes practically glittered. "Why, our date of course, Hitsugaya-taichou."

He spluttered. "Date?" And dear kami, how long had his voice been this high and squeaky?

She sipped lightly at her tea, enjoying the smooth flavor before responding, "Yes, you don't remember?" For a moment, the happy expression she had been harboring seemed to falter, flickering briefly towards disappointment. "I thought for sure I had read that letter correctly..."

He had the sudden and frightening thought that she would weep, which seemed entirely opposite of Unohana's character. She seemed so... _excited_ by the prospect of this date that he didn't remember asking her on. It had to be some sort of mistake. Maybe a letter from someone else in his division. Or from another captain. Or… dear kami-sama, something Matsumoto had done.

Even as his stomach sank to rest somewhere near his ankles, Toushirou struggled to clear up this misunderstanding. "It's just that I don't remember sending a letter." But he faltered when that flicker turned into complete disappointment, her hands lowering until her teacup sat fully in front of her.

Maybe he _had_ sent something and didn't remember. Or possibly, he had composed something entirely innocent and Matsumoto really had altered it in her never-ending quest to "help taichou get a life." Surely Unohana-taichou couldn't be mistaken. And if she wasn't mistaken, the fault had to lie with him then.

His resolve crumbled as she looked at him, the smile on her face fading away in the wake of discontent. There was something to her eyes, something almost hopeful that was dying a painful death.

"I see. I was mistaken then." She sighed, and it was full of so much regret that Toushirou felt his own heart give a painful tug. "I apologize."

In that instant, he felt very much the villain here. And really, what could it hurt? One day was all it took right? And it seemed he _had_ promised in some way or another, even if he couldn't quite remember. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. And it might prevent him from committing a homicide when Matsumoto turned up.

Unohana-taichou set down her cup and was making motions as if to rise, perhaps to excuse herself. Eyes downcast and cheeks faintly pink as if with embarrassment.

"I may not recall," Toushirou inserted before she could stand, "but that doesn't mean I should rescind my offer. The festival sounds like fun."

The sparkle that returned to her eyes was so hopeful, and she smiled at him, looking quite beautiful for it. In fact, it was as if the disappointment had never been there at all, so quickly did her expressions change.

"That's wonderful, Hitsugaya-taichou. Shall we meet Friday then?" She practically glowed at him, beaming happily.

He had the distinct impression somehow, that he'd just been played for a fool. But it was too late to back down now.

Toushirou rubbed hands over his forehead and felt a strange migraine beginning to develop. "Friday is good," he replied and thought that it sounded a bit weary. Or wary. Or both.

Unohana-taichou smiled at him again. And Toushirou thought and hoped – and prayed – that this might not be so bad, all things considered.

* * *

a/n: Ah, Toushirou's so squishy. I love writing him confused. This one was a bit more fun. Huzzah!

I hope you enjoyed! We should be seeing more of those requests soon. I've been working hard at them.


	122. The Kurosaki Magnetism

a/n: Surprise mid-week update! Yay!

**Title: The Kurosaki Magnetism**

**Characters: Urahara, Ichigo, the ten Espada, Tessai, Aizen (in spirit)  
**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: OOC like whoa, seriously. And lots of crack. A few spoilers.**

**Words: 4779**

**Description: Ichigo's building an army, and Urahara has no idea how he's doing it. **

* * *

Urahara Kisuke was confused, which wasn't a normal state for him. Not at all. He was usually the man who knew everything. He had spies in all corners of Soul Society and even in the living world. He was rarely ever misinformed, and even if that were to happen, he was composed enough not to let it show.

However, if there was one person who had always broken the laws of reality for him, it was Kurosaki Ichigo. He had the amazing ability to displace all plans. To throw the world out of alignment. To bring chaos where there was once order.

Or in this case, to bring one of Aizen's Espada over to their side.

And not just any Espada either. But the _primera_. The number one. The strongest Espada Aizen carried in his arsenal.

Kurosaki was a person born to disrupt the natural order of things. To put a kink into Kisuke's plans. To confuse him at every moment, leaving him scrambling to find reason again.

"He'll have to stay here," Ichigo was saying, sort of apologetic, only not. "He can't stay with me."

He, of course, was Stark, the Espada sitting next to Ichigo and calmly sipping his tea. Or to be more precise, he had sipped his tea once, made a disgusted face, and promptly set the cup back down. He was now giving his cup a fearful look, gradually inching away from it. Kisuke was vaguely insulted. He'd made that tea!

Reluctantly, the shopkeeper forced his attention back to Ichigo. "Eh, but..." The fan waved in front of his face, trying and failing to hide his fluster. "How... I mean, why is an Espada here?"

The two of them exchanged a glance, some unknown conversation passing between them before Ichigo rubbed the back of his head. "It's kind of a long story. Can he stay here?"

"I don't really need any more freeloaders," Kisuke hedged, ignoring Abarai-kun's indignant cry of "hey!" from the other room.

He couldn't exactly turn away such an auspicious chance either. To steal away some of Sou-kun's power and make it into his own. To learn something of the man's plans. This was indeed an excellent chance.

But still... how? That was burning in the back of his mind.

"But you'll let him stay, right?" Ichigo pressed, even as he was rising to his feet, leaving his newfound friend.

"I don't... Where are you going?"

He leaned over to pick up a bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "School. I'm late," Ichigo answered before sliding the door open.

Blinking, the shopkeeper tried to rise to his feet, but his protests were lost.

"See ya, Stark."

"Later, Ichigo."

And then, the teenager was gone. Leaving Kisuke in a half-risen position, gaping like a beached fish. The door slid shut behind Ichigo, and silence descended in the room. Well, except for the sound of Stark poking at his tea cup.

"There wouldn't happen to be anything more... palatable than this lying around, would there?" the Espada asked, a sense of hope in his tone.

Strangely, Kisuke felt a migraine coming along.

* * *

It was only a week later when Ichigo returned, yet another Espada in tow. Kisuke had finally gotten Stark settled in, having resorted to temporarily stashing the Arrancar in his training room. There simply wasn't any space in the shouten above, and he resolved to build an addition to his shop. Eventually.

Anyway, Stark was hardly a bother. He spent most of his time sleeping or training. He was remarkably agile, and he could carry on rather pleasant conversation. In fact, it was a brief discussion with the Espada that gave Kisuke an idea for one of his inventions. So having him in his care wasn't all too bad.

Seven days later, however, had Kisuke blinking in shock at the sight of Ichigo, lifting his hand to wave with a rather busty female sauntering along behind him. She was beautiful, what of her face Kisuke could see, and her arms were folded over her ample assets. Her hips swayed in a fashion that made even him, pervert extraordinaire, blush to the gills.

"And who is this delightful young woman?" Kisuke asked, fingers wrapped tightly around his fan as he admired her long hair. Though with the white outfit and the distinct zanpakutou, it was pretty clear she was an Arrancar.

Dear kami, had the kid attracted another Espada?

Ichigo jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing the bronze-skinned woman. "This is Halibel, Aizen's third Espada. She needs a place to stay."

Kisuke was feeling a little faint. "For how long?" He should have expected this.

Rubbing the back of his head, Ichigo shrugged only partly apologetic. "Awhile? She doesn't want to go back to Aizen."

"Doesn't she now?" His eyes slid past the teen to fall on the woman, who met his gaze evenly and without even flinching.

"Bel!"

And that happy exclamation was from Stark, emerging from the hall behind Kisuke and displaying distinctly more energy than Kisuke had ever seen from him. It was a lazy stroll that he effected, looking quite dapper in a borrowed kimono, but it was clear he was pleased to see his companion.

"So this is where you were, _Primera_," the woman finally spoke, her voice rough and yet strangely sexy. She reminded Kisuke of a tame version of Yoruichi in some vague and mostly disconnected way.

"The boss was looking for me, I suppose," Stark responded as he slipped by Kisuke to move towards the other Arrancar. He slung an arm over her shoulder, deftly steering her back to the inner sanctum of Kisuke's shouten. "You'll like this place though. Excellent beds."

"Only you would extol the virtues of a place by its sleeping arrangements." Her voice was both amused and pleased.

Stark chuckled, and the two disappeared down the hall.

Without his permission, Kisuke had picked up yet another boarder, just as strange as the last. And he wondered how this had happened. His gaze shifted to Ichigo, who was in the midst of leaving!

"Kurosaki--"

"Sorry, Urahara-san, I promised Yuzu I'd help her with her homework. Later!"

And then the teen was gone again, leaving him with the same unanswered questions as before. Kisuke blinked, fluttered his fan, and sighed. Looked like it was time to make more arrangements. His shop was really too small for this.

* * *

Halibel settled in, proving another silent presence. Kisuke didn't mind her so much as she was a pleasant, intelligent person to be around, and she made little mess. Like Stark, she had been remanded to the basement where there was more space.

He really needed to think about expanding.

And then three days later, Ichigo shoved an older gentlemen at him, muttered something about homework and vanished.

"You can't keep sending me your unwanted castoffs, Kurosaki-kun!" Kisuke yelled after him out of pure exasperation.

But Ichigo was far gone.

Feeling distinctly perturbed though he hid it well, Kisuke took another glance at his newest guest. A bone crown perched over his white hair, and his aged face was particularly surly. A scar crossed over one eye, and his burly mustache nearly hid his lips.

"Barragan Luisenbarn," he muttered, voice gravelly and full of self-importance. "The second Espada. Where's my room?"

Kisuke instantly felt a flicker of dislike. But he couldn't in all rationality turn away a potential ally or source of information in their war. And he really wanted to know how Ichigo was accomplishing this.

* * *

With three Espada living in his basement, only two of whom Kisuke actually liked, he was beginning to suspect that a trend was forming. Even more suspicious was the manner in which they seemed to so easily turn their backs on Aizen and join Ichigo's side. He didn't dare comment that they had sided with the Shinigami. He'd learned the consequences of that mistake.

Oh, no. The three had made it perfectly clear they were on Ichigo's side and Ichigo's side alone. Yet, they couldn't explain why or how. Just that Ichigo "made sense."

A week after Barragan's appearance, Ichigo wandered into the shouten again. Kisuke just sighed.

"Let me guess: someone else needs somewhere to stay," the shopkeeper said before Ichigo could even speak.

Behind the teen, there was a disdainful sniff. "A hovel," a voice commented, sounding bored to tears and yet not caring at all. A strange dichotomy.

Kisuke's brow rose, even as he shifted to the side to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. He was therefore surprised to see a rather attractive young man, his eyes dispassionate pools of green. He carried himself with pride, though somehow remaining detached from everything around him. His skin, not just pale, was milky white. And the markings on his face made it appear as though he were weeping.

My, Sou-kun really did make them pretty, didn't he? Well, other than the old fart who had tried to make himself "king" of the basement. Neither Stark nor Halibel humored him.

"Don't mind him," Ichigo inserted with a dismissive wave at the boy behind him. "He's always like this."

"Aizen-sama would have never resorted to a place like this," the Espada continued, even though Ichigo was very obviously ignoring every word from his lips.

Kisuke's brow lifted higher.

Ichigo scowled, twitching just a little. Okay, so he wasn't completely ignoring the pale brat, but he was definitely trying. Kisuke suspected a story in this, if only he could drag it out.

"And who might this be?" the former captain questioned, having a great urge to delve deeper into the mysteries of his newest guest.

"Ulquiorra Something-or-other ," Ichigo answered, a vein beginning to tick in his forehead as his companion had yet to remove his hands from his pockets.

He dispassionately gave his surroundings a look that was filled with disdain, perhaps even disgust. Kisuke was just a bit indignant. He cleaned! Or well, Tessai cleaned! His place was absolutely spotless, except perhaps for the labs. But no one ever went in there.

"Schiffer, Kurosaki trash, Schiffer. And do not forget again."

My, they were quite good friends, weren't they? How in Karakura had Ichigo managed to win this one over when it was obvious their respect for each other was pretty much nil?

That was quite the quandary.

Ichigo snorted. "Whatever. Stay here. I'm late for a meeting." He turned away, and Kisuke had a brief thought of chasing after the teen.

"You know, if you keep bringing them here, I'll have to start charging you rent!" the shopkeeper called after him, wondering why it was even _he_ couldn't say no to Ichigo. In fact, he felt just a bit like sulking.

Sort of like short-and-pasty over there was doing right now.

"So..." Kisuke began, eying the Espada calculatingly and contemplating bringing out his fan. "What number are you, Ulquiorra-kun?"

Those eyes stared back at him unflinchingly, as though examining, measuring, and dismissing him all in an instant. "_Cuarta_," he answered flatly and without a hint of intonation. "Where is my room?"

It was evident that this one expected private quarters with full amenities. No doubt, he wouldn't want to be disturbed by the other Shinigami, those he considered trash.

And Kisuke just sighed. He really, really needed a drink.

* * *

With Ulquiorra situated in one of the smaller rooms in the back of the shouten – one look at the kid and Tessai had ever so gracefully given him Jinta's room, though Kisuke wasn't entirely sure why – things were finally starting to settle down. This left Kisuke with a few extra moments to ponder his ever-increasing number of house guests. Surely, Aizen was getting a bit desperate at this point, what with all his high-ranked officers vanishing beneath his nose.

At the present, however, Kisuke was attempting to enjoy the nice and lazy afternoon. It was pleasantly warm outside, and the breeze was fresh, faintly smelling of wildflowers. He was soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the minute of peaceful solitude.

"You baaaaaaassssssssssssstttttttttttteeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrd!"

Thunk! Crash!

The shouten behind him gave a great rumble. He felt it through the wooden floor followed by the sound of several things breaking. Many of them likely irreplaceable.

"Don't worry. I'll make Goat-Face pay for that!"

Rattle, rattle. Clunk! Crash!

"Dammit, Kurosaki! You could've killed me!"

And yet, Ichigo didn't seem to be too apologetic. And there he was, sprinting away on the rooftops, paying no mind to the Espada he'd just dropped onto and through Kisuke's roof. It appeared that he now had another guest. Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised. Though he could have done without the hole in his roof. Perhaps Stark would be inclined to fix it, if he asked politely.

These Espada had to pay for their room and board in some fashion, after all.

* * *

It wasn't until after Kisuke rose from his contemplations that he managed to find out the identity of his new resident. One Nnoitra Jiruga, the fifth Espada in Aizen's army. Or truthfully, the fifth in Ichigo's rapidly expanding Arrancar army. Honestly, how did the boy do it?

He wasn't exactly charming, more prone to scowls and cocky behavior. And there was no way he was defeating these opponents. Kisuke was proud of his student, but Ichigo wasn't that powerful. Unless he'd stumbled on some mysterious ability that Kisuke had never heard of. And if he didn't know of it, it didn't exist.

It was true that Ichigo had a gravitating sense about him. Kisuke didn't think it worked on his enemies, especially considering the personalities and attitudes of the five he'd already met. Namely, the callous Ulquiorra and the argumentative Nnoitra.

He'd learned the hard way that it was best to separate Halibel and Nnoitra, the latter being an obvious misogynist and holding that against the former. And Halibel had no scruples about grinding him into the dust with only a few key moves and judicious applications of a well-timed cero. They kept destroying his training grounds, so Kisuke had been forced to find a means to keep them separated. An exhausting task.

Sighing to himself and wondering if his guest list would grow even larger, he felt the approaching surges of reiatsu moments before Ichigo was set to arrive. Unsurprising. Suspecting that his student was not alone, though he couldn't exactly tell beneath the layers of aggression and aggravation, Kisuke headed for the doorway. It would be best to meet Ichigo there, he decided.

To his utmost surprise, however, Ichigo didn't just come strolling in with another Espada trailing after him. Oh, no. Defying the norm once more, Ichigo trudged into Kisuke's hallway. Half-carrying and half-dragging a beaten and bloodied creature that even now was dripping red onto the shopkeeper's recently refurbished flooring.

He vaguely recognized bright blue hair beneath the evidence of a harsh battle, and he could hear angered, muttered curses. Not to mention the stranger had a death grip – and were those claws? – on Ichigo's shihakushou. The teen himself was pretty worse for wear, clothing ripped in several places and a few bits of Hollow mask clinging to his hair.

"He wouldn't stop attacking me," Ichigo said by way of introduction. "Said I had to defeat him to make a point. And then, it was best two out of three. Then seven out of ten. And then--"

Kisuke held up a hand. "I think I get the picture," he intercepted hastily, especially since the both of them looked about ten steps from death's door. "I take it this--" he wasn't sure what to call it so he stuck with that "-- is an Espada."

"The sixth, asshole," the bleeding creature grated out, shifting a little and slamming one bloody palm into the side of the wall to help hold himself up. One blue eye glared hotly at Kisuke with interesting markings to the side of it. "And I ain't _this_. I'm Grimmjow."

"Well, _Grimmjow_-kun," Kisuke drawled, a bit annoyed that the brat wasn't being all grateful like he should be. "You're bleeding all over my floor."

"It's Kurosaki's fault."

"It's your fault, dumbass! You wouldn't stop fighting!"

"That's cuz you need ta get yer ass kicked!"

And before Kisuke's very eyes, they started scuffling once more. Though in their current state of fatigue, it looked more like a slap-match between a pair of grade-school girls. Ichigo grappled. Grimmjow affected a very weak blow that was lazily dodged. Actually Ichigo probably tripped. It would have landed otherwise.

Suddenly, the two boys were separated, pulled apart by a hand gripping the back of what remained of their uniforms and dragging them away from one another.

"Come now, kids. Fighting in someone else's house is rude," Stark drawled, strength easily keeping them pinned on opposite sides of the hall.

Kisuke blinked since this was the first time he'd seen Stark do anything of his own accord.

"He started it!" both Grimmjow and Ichigo declared in the same moment, and promptly returned to glaring at one another.

Kisuke's temple throbbed. He had the feeling that this Espada might be just a bit troublesome.

* * *

"Urahara-san, would you like to experience--"

"No, Zommari-kun, I would not." Kisuke tried his best to respond politely. "But thank you so kindly for the offer."

The Espada, _numero siete_ to be precise, didn't seem put down by his thirteenth – or was that fourteenth? – rejection.

"Ah, well perhaps later." And then the dark-skinned man was gone, palms pressed together as he moved placidly down the hall. Presumably to meditate some more until Kisuke made the mistake of accidentally passing by him again.

From the moment Kurosaki-kun had dumped the man on Kisuke's doorstep, he hadn't gone five hours without being propositioned – for lack of a better word. It seemed Zommari couldn't let a moment pass without asking Kisuke if he wanted to experience "_Amor._"

He faintly considered hiding from the seventh Espada, but Kisuke had too much pride for that. He'd just have to endure Zommari's attempts to be "closer" to him. And here, he'd thought that Arrancar hated Shinigami. He'd certainly heard Zommari mutter about them often enough. It seemed though that the dislike did not extend to _exiled_ Shinigami. As though that made a difference.

Sighing, Kisuke returned to designing a hotel in his backyard. He had the feeling that Ichigo would be bringing him another one soon enough, if recent trends were any indication.

* * *

The first thing Kisuke saw was a blur of pink and a shriek of fangirly joy before a white-clad figure bound towards him and grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly. He was faintly dizzy at the sudden flux of energy directed at him, even as the stranger – who must have been an Espada – made a noise that suspiciously sounded like a squeal.

"Urahara Kisuke! What an honor!" the Arrancar gushed at him, a bright grin on his rather youthful face. Amber eyes sparkled behind the rims of his bone mask. "I've read everything you've written. At least, what I could get my hands on. Aizen-sama had such a collection."

Blinking in the face of such obvious adulation and praise, Kisuke felt his shoulders square in pride. "You have?"

"I have," the Espada confirmed, cheeks flushing happily. "You are utterly brilliant! Your theories on Hollowification are unparalleled!"

"They are?"

"Most definitely!"

Behind the pink-haired man, Ichigo coughed, quite bemused. He crossed his arms and smirked at the shopkeeper's predicament, not caring that he'd thrust yet another Espada to his teacher's care.

"And you would be?"

The Arrancar's mouth dropped as he suddenly realized he'd yet to introduce himself. Releasing Kisuke, he giggled and shook his head. One hand lifted to his forehead, pressing gently.

"How could I have forgotten?" He gestured to his chest, the other hand performing some elaborate twirl. "Szayel Aporro Granz, _Octava Espada_, at your service. And most pleased to shake the hands of the famous Urahara Kisuke."

And that had to be the longest introduction Kisuke had ever been forced to endure, not that Szayel was entirely unattractive. Just... excitable. Like an overeager puppy. But Kisuke couldn't find himself disliking the Espada too much. After all, they shared a common interest. Perhaps this would prove to be the most useful of his new guests.

"How nice to meet a fellow scientist," Kisuke returned, fan mysteriously appearing as it fluttered before him. "Shall I show you to my lab?"

Szayel clapped his hands together in absolute glee. "That would be wonderful!"

It wasn't until several hours later that Kisuke recognized he wasn't quite sure when Ichigo had left, abandoning Szayel to his care. And then, he realized that it didn't really matter. This one was a keeper.

* * *

"Kurosaki-kun, I really don't think this is... _appropriate_," Kisuke commented uneasily, glancing at the... _thing_ that the teen held.

Honestly, Ichigo looked a little apprehensive himself. "He... It... He really doesn't have much else to go."

Eying the two heads bobbing up and down within their glass casing, Kisuke resisted the urge to grimace. "I can't imagine how it... eerrm,_ he __would_. Lacking legs and all."

Ichigo winced and pushed the container in Kisuke's direction. "That's mostly Rukia's fault. Remind me never to piss her off. Like ever."

If that were the results of an angered Kuchiki, then Kisuke made a mental note to never do so himself.

The two heads bouncing within their cage turned to look at Kisuke in unison and tried to speak, but all he saw was bubbles. He really wished they wouldn't do that. He might be an eccentric scientist, but even this stretched the limits of acceptability. Though he did wonder how a being functioned when it consisted only of heads.

Kisuke sighed, reaching to take the... thing from Ichigo before he dropped it in his haste to be rid of the burden. "I suppose this is another Espada?"

"Yeah, sort of like a shapeshifter," Ichigo replied with a strange look on his face as though recalling something he had recently witnessed. "He said he was the ninth before Rukia iced one of his legs off."

"So he _did_ originally have limbs?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Rukia was really, really angry."

"Ah." It was quite unusual for Kisuke to be reduced to speechlessness, but honestly, there wasn't much else he could say.

He looked down at the – he'd call it a jar because that's what it looked like – in his hands. One of the heads smiled at him. Creepy.

"At least, he won't take up much space," Kisuke muttered to himself, thinking that he might give the ninth to Szayel. In fact, he turned to do just that. "Someday, Kurosaki-kun, you're going to have to tell me how you're acquiring your army," he tossed over his shoulder.

The teen shrugged, idly rubbing one of his shoulders. "It's not an army. And besides, it's Aizen's fault for continuing to send them to me. He'll run out of lackeys eventually." Ichigo threw a wave at him as he turned to leave.

Kisuke shook his head. "Dear Kami, if he sends Ichimaru or Tousen next, I'm going to protest," he murmured to himself and looked down at the burden in his hold.

One of the faces stuck out its tongue at him.

He shuddered. He might have been a crazed scientist, but he still had some scruples. And this Espada – Aaroniero Arruruerie, and wasn't what a mouthful? – completely crossed all the boundaries. In fact, he'd just remembered that he had space on his specimen shelf for another jar.

Perfect.

* * *

"Graaahhh!"

And laughter filled the backyard. Kisuke watched with utter entertainment, hiding behind his fan lest his amusement annoy the tenth Espada. Not that he looked particularly terrifying at the moment, playing some sort of game with Jinta and Ururu. Of course, considering that the both of them were pretty powerful children and Yammy was an Espada, it was more like a destructive battle of tag than something more child-like such as tic-tac-toe.

When Ichigo had first brought him the last of Aizen's Espada, Kisuke had wondered how he was going to house the huge Arrancar. But Yammy had settled in without a word and had quickly taken a shine to Jinta and Ururu for reasons unknown. It was almost... cute. It might have helped that Yammy's intelligence hardly ranked higher than a mere child anyway. He probably felt comfortable with them.

So there Kisuke was, lord and master of his own shouten, overrun with Espada.

There was Stark, who was content to sleep all day unless prodded by Halibel to earn his keep. In fact, Halibel did a good job at making most of the Espada do something with themselves. No one, however, could get through to Barragan. He was still trying to make himself ruler of the basement. At present, having foregone a tyranny, he was attempting a democracy. No one would vote for him; it was quite amusing.

Ulquiorra kept to his room, and sometimes, in the middle of the night, Kisuke heard strange whispers from that direction. He could have sworn the pale Arrancar was still extolling Aizen's virtues, despite having switched to Ichigo's side. For the most part, the others avoided Ulquiorra except when Grimmjow tried to goad him into a fight. Or Yammy attempted to talk to him, always an amusement in itself.

Nnoitra could be found at any moment destroying parts of Kisuke's training center in his attempt to be stronger. Or mocking Halibel and being subsequently torn into pieces for it. Sometimes by Halibel herself, sometimes by Stark if he was feeling out of practice and satisfied by a long nap.

Grimmjow was hardly ever present as he spent most of his time either stalking Ichigo or annoying Ulquiorra. Always itching for a fight and determined to prove just how strong he really was.

Kisuke was most pleased to find that Zommari had switched his attentions to Yoruichi. The Shihouin heir, however, was not quite so ecstatic.

Szayel was utilizing his labs and creating all manner of interesting things. In fact, they were collaborating on several projects at the moment. All classified, of course.

Aaroniero was still bubbling in his jar, seeming content for it. He often watched as Kisuke and Szayel puttered around in the laboratory.

All in all, Kisuke's house was much livelier than it had been before.

"Tencho?" (1)

He started a bit at the unexpected voice and turned from his position watching Yammy play with the children, only to find Tessai standing behind him. He held the day's mail in one hand, and a single envelope was being offered to the former captain.

"A letter for you," Tessai explained, pushing the plain paper in his direction. It was very flat and thin, almost empty.

Inclining his head and closing his fan with a snap, Urahara accepted the letter. "Thank you, Tessai."

As Tessai padded back into the quiet confines of the shop, likely to prepare the massive lunch required to feed all of their guests, Kisuke turned his attention to the envelope.

On the front, it was addressed to Kurosaki Ichigo, care of Urahara Kisuke. Since his name was on it in some fashion, he felt he was entitled to open and read it. Turning it over, he found that it wasn't sealed shut but the flap merely folded inwards. Within seconds, he had it open, and a small sheet of paper – no larger than an index card – slid into his fingers.

The neatly penned, perfectly spaced kanji was the first thing he noted before he quickly scanned the message. Only to stop, let a smile quirk his lips, and go back to read it more slowly.

"_In light of recent events_," the letter began with hardly any introduction, "_I must ask you to desist in acquiring my underlings. It is quite troublesome to create more. Cease immediately. Or I shall be forced to take extreme measures._"

And it was signed: _Aizen Sousuke. Former Captain of the Fifth Division. Lord and Master of Hueco Mundo. Future King of Soul Society and Ruler of the Known Universe._ Which was possibly the most lengthy and optimistic signature Kisuke had ever seen.

He could only throw his head back and laugh, never minding that he probably looked like a moron. All of the insanity and the noise and the lack of space was worth it. This single moment where Aizen Sousuke proved to be threatened by a teenage human/Shinigami/Vizard hybrid thingy.

Priceless.

* * *

(1) Tencho - a meaning similar to manager. It's what Tessai calls Urahara, at least according to my beta. And she's the one who took Japanese.

a/n: Pure and utter crack. I was high on marked down Valentine's candy when I wrote this. I hope you enjoyed! Also, I'm not sure since they are all equally hilarious, but I think the Grimmjow one is my favorite. Or maybe the Szayel (as grossly OOC as it may be). But I definitely like this one?

Which one was your favorite? Provided you enjoyed it of course. Thanks for reading!


	123. Rukia's Dating Service Hanatarou

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Hanatarou**

**Characters: Ichigo, Hanatarou  
**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Slight Language, Speculation**

**Words: 1047**

**Description: In the end, he'd had fun, and that was all that mattered. **

**Dedication: To **_**InfernumEquinomin**_**, who wanted one of these dates to involve bowling. **

* * *

"It was actually Ganju's idea," Hanatarou had said to him with his characteristic half-grin, full of uncertainty and hope. He lifted a hand, patting over his hair. "He was the one who found this place."

Amid the noise of pins and balls and feet sliding over perfectly polished wood flooring, Ichigo could only incline his head in understanding. He winced as he heard the sound of a strike echoing through the building and the resulting cheer from a rowdy – and drunk – crowd a few lanes over.

It smelled in here, just a bit. And his feet didn't quite fit into his shoes, but it was the closest to his size that they had. They were also uncomfortable and a disastrous bright red, but that was the least of Ichigo's worries.

The truth of the matter was that Ichigo was losing. _Badly. _He wasn't that fond of bowling to begin with, but what man didn't hate losing? And not only was he losing badly, but he was being beaten by Hanatarou, the least sporty person he knew. Outside of Keigo anyway. Ichigo was fond of Hanatarou, but facts were facts. And yet, he was still losing.

_Clatter! Clang! _

Another X lit up the board. The third strike of the night for the little healer.

Ichigo felt his eye twitch. Great. Now, he was turning into Toushirou.

"Eh-heh." Hanatarou laughed sheepishly as his score went up once again, trotting over to reclaim his blue and white speckled ball. "Turns out, I'm pretty good at this."

"No shit." Ichigo grabbed his own bowling ball that was borrowed from Goat Face as evidenced by the garish Hawaiian colors decorating it.

His first throw netted him three pins. The second two more. "And meanwhile, I suck ass," he added, watching his rather unimpressive numbers rack up on the scoreboard.

Hanatarou was quick to reassure him. "You just need practice, Ichigo-san. Don't worry. Ganju was just as bad."

Unfortunately, his reassurance failed miserable as it didn't make Ichigo feel a whit better about his general lack of ability. And comparing him to _Ganju _only made things that much more terrible.

Ichigo slid into the plastic seat with the wide, gaping crack and watched as Hanatarou picked up his own bowling ball, stance just a bit wobbly. And then, he was all business and focus as he approached the lane, aiming with purpose at the pins. Several minutes later, a spare lit up the screen.

He couldn't help but wonder if Aizen – err, _Sousuke_ – would be as good at bowling as this. Well, of course he would. Evil incarnate aside, he was an overlord, and they were just naturally good at everything. It came with the territory. Now, _Izuru_. He was probably a different story. Ichigo wondered if the vice-captain had as much skill as Ichigo in that regard. Which is to say not at all.

But then, he realized he was thinking of someone else – two someone elses – while on a "date" with another and forced himself back to task.

"You are good at this," Ichigo commented with a sense of disbelief. The clumsiest person he knew could bowl like an American pro. "You really like it, huh?"

Hanatarou grinned abashedly. "It's relaxing," he answered as the crowd on the other side of them grew rowdier, celebrating their own continued success.

Not yet ready to embarrass himself, Ichigo sat back in his chair and sipped at his cherry slushy. "So why'd you come on this anyway? Rukia find something to blackmail you with, too?" He wouldn't put it past the conniving bitch.

Ichigo put down his drink and ambled to his feet, listening for the healer's answer as he bowled a relatively high score. Not quite a spare but at least eight of the damn things went down. Thank kami for small favors.

"Not quite." Hanatarou shook his head, taking his own short break as he plopped down in his seat, looking quite adorable with little strands breaking free from his ponytail and framing his face. "I didn't realize it was going to be a date until the last minute."

Ichigo considered, watching Hanatarou for a long moment. As many disastrous – and not so disastrous, thinking fondly of his most recent one – dates as he'd been on, he'd come to recognize a thing or two. Even with his perpetual obliviousness.

"You're not gay, are you?"

Hanatarou, in the midst of bowling, startled at the unexpected statement. His ball twirled right into the gutter. His first of the night. An unintentional bonus. Looking over his shoulder warily, Ichigo was surprised to find the healer blushing. He rubbed his hand over the back of his head, eyes cast towards the floor embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo-san," Hanatarou admitted, big blue eyes apologetic. "I admire you, but…" He sighed. "But I love my wife very much. Even though she has been gone for a long time now."

His face was sincere, filled with the same wistful sadness that Ichigo often saw with his own father. And Ichigo should probably be surprised by the revelation that his friend had once been married, but truthfully, he wasn't. If Byakuya – cold and stern and awkward as he was – had found a woman willing to marry him, Hanatarou could. Hell, if Goat Face could find someone willing, then Hanatarou definitely could. Besides, the part of Ichigo that loved Shakespeare and sonnets found it just a bit sweet. Not that he would ever admit that aloud even on pain of death.

Missing Ichigo's internal debate, Hanatarou was quick to reassure. "It's nothing against you, Ichigo-san. Really. But--"

The teenager waved him off, rather relieved that he had been right. "Rukia's fault, not yours." It wasn't as if he had expected anything. "Why did you agree then?"

"We're still friends, right?" Hanatarou smiled reassuringly, already trotting over to reclaim his ball for one more try. "I thought it would be fun."

That Ichigo could understand. Hanatarou was one of the easiest Shinigami he knew to get along with.

"It's a little fun," he agreed and on the whole considered the whole thing to be quite successful.

And when Hanatarou managed to bowl a spare in the second half of the frame, Ichigo didn't even envy his score.

* * *

a/n: That one was smushy, at least, I think so. Awww, poor widowed Hanatarou. Someday, I'll have to write a drabble describing his wife.

Let's see... the next Rukia's Dating Service should see Ichigo in round two with some of his favorites.

Also, I've posted an Ichigo/Gin oneshot, but it's not on this site because of the smut involved. I think it might be a bit too much for the M rating. If you want to check it out, the links are in my profile.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	124. The Thrill of the Chase

**Title: Thrill of the Chase**

**Characters: Kenpachi/Ichigo, Yachiru**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, language**

**Words: 1498**

**Description: It's not running for his life so much as it is fleeing for his virtue. **

**Dedication: To Tenchi's-Wings, who wanted a Zaraki/Ichigo featuring a smug Zaraki, reluctant Ichigo, and Yachiru a looooong time ago! I hope you're still reading! **

* * *

"Ichigo!"

He put a faster spring into his shunpo, leaping from one rooftop and crossing over to another without having barely any weight into the first.

"Ichi!"

Two different voices calling him, one cute and ever innocent, the other loud and determined. Ichigo tried to be faster. He considered slipping into bankai. He was that desperate.

Ichigo hated to run away from anything. And if it was just a battle that Kenpachi wanted, a simple spar, he wouldn't be sprinting so quickly. He would have already just given in and pummeled Kenpachi into the dirt as the captain wanted. Or on the off occasion, found his own face smashed into the pavement. It was a give and take relationship.

However, it wasn't a simple spar that Kenpachi wanted. Somehow, someway, his intentions had shifted. While he was still interested in fighting Ichigo to the death on a daily basis, he now desired something else to color their encounters. And Ichigo wasn't given more than a moment's pause to figure out whether he wanted it or not.

Kenpachi's intentions had been utterly clear. Honestly, kissing someone out of the blue could really only have one meaning. And Yachiru was even worse! Attacking him out of nowhere with her football-tackle hugs, calling him "kaa-san" and asking him to read her bedtime stories.

Normally, Ichigo wouldn't mind either. He had younger sisters, after all. He knew how to take care of children, and it seemed they were fond of him, too. He wouldn't mind helping Yachiru with her homework – did child Shinigami even have homework? Or for that matter, did Toushirou? – or playing some sort of game. But it was the nickname that bothered him. Ichigo was no one's mother, and most importantly, he wasn't a woman.

Somehow, both she and Kenpachi seemed to have missed that vitally important fact.

Sucking in a tired breath, Ichigo leapt to a higher building, nearly missed his footing in his fatigue. And he pummeled onwards, never breaking stride. Behind him, Kenpachi and Yachiru were a close presence, for once managing not to get lost. How ironic. It appeared they only knew how to get where they were going when they were chasing their prey.

Dear kami, he'd been reduced to prey.

Below him, someone called out his name. It might have been Ikkaku or Renji, judging by the blur of faces he'd briefly glimpsed. But he didn't have time to stop or chat. Ichigo was currently running for his life. All he wanted was one goddamned minute to think!

But this he could only do on the run. So as Ichigo frantically looked for a place to hide, though his radiating reiatsu was a beacon to practically everyone in Soul Society and possibly Hueco Mundo as well, he tried to pull his mind into some sort of coherent order. Behind him, father and daughter were relentless in their pursuit, Yachiru even giggling as though this were some fine game of cat and mouse. Rather than Ichigo running desperately for his sanity.

Kenpachi and kissing had never really coexisted in his mind before. Then again, for his age, Ichigo was remarkably out of touch with his libido. Keigo reminded him of that on a daily basis, especially since he couldn't seem to appreciate the mounds of bounding joy that were Inoue's breasts. Keigo's words, not his.

It wasn't that he'd entirely disliked the kiss. It had been surprising, true, and a bit sloppy considering Ichigo had been gasping for breath after their usual death-defying spars. Yachiru egging on her Ken-chan in the background had sort of killed any sense of romance. Not that Ichigo was hoping for romance or anything.

Honestly, it was entirely understandable that Ichigo had freaked – in simple terms – and took off running. If anything, Kenpachi was the last captain he would have ever considered to be... gay. Then again, Yumichika was his fifth seat, and well... he did have that demonic gay charm. Still, Ichigo didn't think he could ever call Kenpachi that to his face. Maybe he was more interested in the person than the gender?

Yeah, that had to be it. Ichigo was sticking with that.

Ichigo, however, was pretty certain that he was actually gay. Yeah, Inoue's breasts did nothing for him. Nor did Yoruichi's joy in walking around naked, just to see him blush. He knew what she was doing; he wasn't _that_ stupid. That damn woman liked teasing him.

So if it wasn't that he disliked the kiss, it was that he wasn't given a moment to consider whether or not he liked Kenpachi before they were springing all sorts of questions on him. And well, Kenpachi was a good fighter, and they shared a lot of the same views. Considering Yachiru's attachment to him, he couldn't have been that bad of a man. And well, Kenpachi had always been one of the ones willing to come to Ichigo's aid. Even if it was in the interest of finding a decent opponent.

Kenpachi was an attractive man; he'd overheard people saying it enough. Though the ladies of Soul Society were more likely to whisper it than admit it aloud. It wasn't proper to discuss the finer attributes of a mindless beast like Kenpachi – Byakuya's words not his, though Byakuya's hadn't been as polite.

Ichigo could admit to himself that Kenpachi was attractive. And the kiss had actually been pretty nice, all clumsiness aside. A part of him wondered if it could be better if they actually attempted in it unison, rather than quickly stolen in a moment of spontaneity. He could find out, if only he stopped attempting to flee.

That's right. It was time he faced this like a man. No more running. Ichigo skidded to a halt, sending roofing tiles flying, only to shatter against the ground. He was a man, after all. An Aizen-killing badass. He didn't need to escape from--

"Kenpachi!" Ichigo exclaimed, whirling around only to come face to face with said captain. As though the man had been standing behind him the entire time, just waiting for him to come to some sort of conclusion.

Kenpachi grinned, the wind causing his bells to jingle and Yachiru happily kicking her feet on his shoulder. "Ya finally stopped runnin'," he commented, looking very much like a predator that had finally caught his prey.

"Ya could've given someone a minute to think," Ichigo shot back, drawing up straight and squaring his shoulders. He was a man, after all. He could take this like one.

Shrugging, the captain dug one finger into his ear, tilting his head to the side. "If I'd done that, you'd have run away."

And the fact that he'd just finishing attempting to flee seemed to have completely escaped Kenpachi. Ichigo resisted the urge to point that out, however, because it was no longer relevant. It would only delay the inevitable.

He considered what to say next, but Kenpachi beat him to it. "It's as simple as saying I like ya. Take it or leave it, Ichigo." This was punctuated with another fanged grin, and really, it boggled Ichigo's mind that Kenpachi could say it so plainly.

But then, the captain had never been one for beating around the bushes. He preferred to just slash them the hell down and leave the clean-up for lesser, more bored folks. No need for subtlety, not for Kenpachi. He just went after what he wanted and let the dominoes fall as they would.

"Yeah!" Yachiru agreed with her usual bubbly cheer. She grinned at him, too. Eyes sparkling. "Come join the family, Ichi!"

Really, how could he resist such a heartfelt plea?

Kenpachi rolled his shoulder, giving her a little shake. "Alright, brat. Let the grownups handle their business."

Yachiru considered the request for several seconds before agreeing and leaping from his shoulder. She gave them both a hearty wave and then vanished in a blur of pink and black, no doubt to chase down Renji and Ikkaku. Who Ichigo thought he had passed a few clicks back.

This left the two men alone, Ichigo hating that his cheeks were probably flushed as all hell. Though he could just say it was because of the running and leaving it at that. No way was he blushing. No way in hell.

"So what's your answer?" Kenpachi asked, barreling right into the matter at hand. The man had no sense of delicacy, even with a situation as embarrassing as this one.

Ichigo twisted his jaw, considered for a few seconds more, and then decided that Kenpachi always did understand actions better than words. Only, it was a little awkward because Kenpachi was a good head taller than him. He had to resort to grasping the captain's face and pulling it down to meet his. Kenpachi didn't seem to mind.

And Ichigo found out that he was right. The kiss was much better the second time around, tasting faintly of sake and citrus.

***

a/n: "Demonic gay charm" is actually a reference to another anime/manga. If anyone can guess it, I'll be impressed. *grins*

Eh, I'm not a big fan of this pairing, but I had a lot of fun writing this one. It amuses me greatly.

More request to come! I hope you enjoyed this one! Thanks!


	125. Equivalent Exchange

a/n: Yes, my dears, the reference in the previous drabble was to Ono from "Antique Bakery," a particularly amusing anime/manga/live-action drama. I recommend it for anyone in need of a good laugh with hints of boylove. Yum.

Another request done. Yay! Enjoy!

**Title: Equivalent Exchange**

**Pairing: Urahara/Ichigo **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Massive spoilers for the Turn Back the Pendulum Arc and beyond, boysembracing**

**Words: 2979**

**Description: ****A secret discovered brings them closer than they've ever been before.**

**Dedication: To **_**Alowl**_**, who wanted a Urahara/Ichigo where Urahara was secretly a Vizard who had tested the Hougyoku on himself. **

* * *

He'd been practicing for weeks in total secret and with no one the wiser. He was determined to do this and without anyone's help. Ichigo was tired of being in the dark about certain things, and if sneaking around was the only way to get any answers, then he was going to learn stealth. On top of all that, he had to learn how to conceal his reiatsu, even if only for ten minutes or so. That would be all he would need.

Once a week, he'd come to learn, Urahara disappeared into the basement of his shop, and no one was allowed to follow him. Well, no one outside of his personal posse. Ichigo had discovered this about three months back when he'd wanted to ask the shopkeeper something and Tessai had informed him that he was otherwise occupied. Ichigo wasn't stupid. Even he could feel the vibrations in the floor from whatever the geta-boushi was doing down there.

When asked, however, Urahara would just smile in that disarming away of his and give a flick of the wrist. It was irritating. They were supposed to be lovers, not people who kept secrets like that. And it definitely wasn't fair. Urahara-san knew everything about him – his Vizard abilities, what happened to his mother, everything that was important! And Ichigo knew hardly anything about him at all. Where was the fairness in that?

If Urahara wasn't going to tell him, Ichigo was going to find out the truth for himself. Thus, the practicing in secret. He could do it now, hide his reiatsu for at least fifteen minutes with concentration. And today was perfect for putting all of his efforts into use.

Ichigo crept silently into the shouten, aware that Ururu and Jinta were playing some game in the backyard. Renji was out patrolling the town, and the mod souls were visiting with Kon. Ichigo didn't know how a bunch of mobile stuffed animals didn't get noticed, but somehow, they were lucky like that. This left Tessai as the only possible guard in the house.

Sliding silently down the hall, Ichigo crept by the kitchen, where Tessai was whistling over a bubbling pot. He didn't seem to notice Ichigo's presence. Which meant that holding in his coiling reiatsu was working. He would actually be successful.

Ichigo forced himself to breathe shallowly, his heart thunderously loud in his chest. He really didn't want to get caught. He was tired of being in the dark.

He made it to the entrance to the underground training arena without incident and thanked kami when the trapdoor didn't squeak as he lifted it. With a small prayer for concealment, Ichigo dropped down, his eyes instantly searching out Urahara. Luckily for him, the shopkeeper was far from the entrance, nearly surrounded by a cloud of dust and debris. The sound of the ground rumbling ominously covered all traces of his movement, his feet barely crunching over rock. And the sense of power was overpowering, a thick ripple of it on the air.

So this was what Urahara's reiatsu was like, unrestrained and free to fly. Yet, it was different somehow. From all the other Shinigami. In fact, it felt far more like something else Ichigo recognized. Something more like Shinji.

A sense of understanding and suspicion began to build inside of Ichigo. He held it in, however, preferring to draw closer. He had to be certain.

The ground rumbled more strongly the closer he drew in. He heard rocks explode, shattering into bits, and his lover's voice, the same but also different. Carrying a strange and familiar sort of echo.

A flash of reddish-black reiatsu suddenly shot up into the air, brightening the sky and flashing against the high walls of the rock enclosing Urahara's position. Ichigo used it to his advantage and cover, finally dropping down into a place where he could see his lover. Despite all the clues, he was still shocked when he caught sight of the man, swinging an unsheathed Benihime through the air with an unmistakable covering of white bone on his face.

In his surprise, all control on his reiatsu slithered through his fingers. And in an instant, it became obvious to Urahara. He whirled around, immediately pinpointing Ichigo's location within seconds. Red-shaded eyes widened in the dark portals of the mask, and Benihime was lowered, the final bits of whatever he had destroyed crashing to the ground.

Ichigo rose to his feet, no longer needing stealth, feeling a vague sense of betrayal. Urahara – no, Kisuke – was a Vizard. And he'd never said anything at all. Never even hinted at it! Despite knowing what Ichigo had suffered through and the pain he had been felt, Kisuke hadn't spoken a word. He'd kept that secret. And it made Ichigo furious as much as hurt. Was he not reliable enough? Or was he just too young? Old enough to fuck but not to trust.

A sigh, full of that Hollow reverberation, echoed across the expanse of ground as Kisuke moved towards Ichigo, one hand already reaching to pry off his mask. Benihime was returned to her sheath with the other hand as he raked fingers through his blond hair, sweeping it out of his eyes.

"Ichigo," Kisuke began as he drew nearer, and there was a sense of regret in his tone. "You've gotten much better. I didn't sense you at all."

In any other situation, Ichigo would have felt a stirring of pride for that praise. At the moment, however, he just let it slide off his shoulders.

"You're a Vizard," he stated, voice full of accusation.

Kisuke's eyes dropped before he inclined his head. "I am," he replied, and without another word, he held out his mask, some of the edges of it already starting to flake away.

Curiosity reigned for a few heartbeats, and Ichigo took the offering, running his fingers over what still felt warm to his touch. Power seemed to radiate within the mask, and he realized that it was very much like holding another person's zanpakutou. He could feel Kisuke in the mask, and it was an odd sensation.

It was much more complicated than his own. Ichigo's fingers brushed lightly against the bone, tracing the dark blue teardrops markings beneath the empty eye sockets. It appeared to be three pieces, a helmet sort that crested to form a pointed nose with blue markings. A second piece in the middle with jagged spines sticking out on either side, the bottom curved like an owl's beak. And the third piece was just the jaw with the usual Hollow's teeth. Ichigo had another moment to admire the shape before it crumpled completely in his hands. The pieces dropped to the ground, joining the rest of the dust.

Ichigo's fingers curled into fists. "You couldn't have told me?" he asked, voice gone soft and unable to hide the hurt. He was just so frustrated in that moment. Pained in a way that only betrayal can do.

His lover sighed again, and there were decades of carefully hidden pain in that simple sound. "Come with me. I promise I'll explain."

Though he wanted to protest loudly, a newfound sense of maturity had Ichigo clamping down on his irritation. So long as he was going to get some explanations, he would save an explosion of annoyance for later.

It occurred to Ichigo, as they used bursts of shunpo to head towards the ladder and out of the basement, that this was the first time he'd seen his lover in such dress. Like a Shinigami in fact, all black with a white haori. A white captain's haori, to be more precise. As if Kisuke only allowed reminiscence of the past in those moments when he blocked himself off in the basement with no interference. Hiding his pain and keeping it to himself.

Ichigo wondered how much of the secret was his fault. He knew that he was reckless and – considering that Kisuke had been a Shinigami for at least a hundred years – noticeably less knowledgeable than his lover. Could Kisuke hide the truth that well, or had he just been too blind to notice?

Upstairs, they were nearly blind-sided by an apologetic Tessai who immediately noticed Ichigo trailing along after his boss. "I apologize, Urahara-san. I don't know how he slipped by me."

Kisuke waved him off with a small smile. "I'm not angry, Tessai. We both know how determined he can be. It was inevitable."

Ichigo refused to feel guilty for his actions. Not when the truth had stared him so obviously in the face. When he had touched it with his fingers and felt it crumble away from him. He wanted and needed answers, and he was going to get them.

"Still..." Tessai broke off, his gaze darting between master and student before he inclined his head. "I'll keep Jinta and Ururu occupied" was all that he said, turning away and granting the two their privacy as he moved down the hall.

"I think a bath is necessary," Kisuke stated into the quiet between them, his footsteps unnaturally soft in the corridor as Ichigo followed.

"Sure. Whatever," Ichigo agreed because he honestly couldn't think to argue, flurrying emotions bringing a sense of numbness. It might have sounded immature, but it was difficult to stomach that someone he had trusted had lied to him so thoroughly.

Urahara as a Vizard was almost like finding out that his mom was Aizen's sister. Or that Goat Face was really a Shinigami. Not that the last two were true or anything.

The silence unnerved him. And as they walked, he tried to sense out Kisuke, to see what his lover might have been feeling. As always, he was a tightly closed box, barriers difficult to penetrate. All Ichigo could sense was that the older man was just as uneasy as he, if not more. It made him feel better about his own anger.

Kisuke kept his quiet until they were actually in the baths, his hands soaped up and running softly over Ichigo's back. The atmosphere was tense, filled with anticipation, and Ichigo was two steps from demanding an answer.

"I apologize for not telling you," Kisuke said. For once admitting his mistake and sounding honestly contrite.

That in itself was enough to cool about a fourth of Ichigo's anger. But not all of it. Just because Kisuke could bite his pride and apologize didn't mean Ichigo was going to immediately forgive him. It irked him for reasons he could very easily explain. He'd struggled with his Hollow for months, and this man had only given him dubious advice. He'd fought and thrashed, nearly died. Had been on the brink of completely losing himself. Had been so desperate at times, desperate enough to come to the shouten. He'd been so alone throughout it all. Alone until he had met the others, had met Shinji. And all that time, Kisuke had just watched him struggle. Watched as Ichigo tried to understand what was happening to him, what he had become through no fault of his own.

"Why didn't you?" Ichigo demanded, forcing himself not to be lulled by the comfort of hands across his skin.

"It wasn't that I didn't trust you, if that's what you're thinking," Kisuke replied quietly, words slow and measured. As though thinking each response through thoroughly. "I am so accustomed to keeping the secret that I could not share it."

It made sense in a small way. Ichigo had gotten used to the fact that Kisuke carried secrets like no one else he knew. Kisuke always had a plot or two of some kind going on somewhere, and he collected knowledge as though each piece of information were a rare treasure. Vizard abilities aside, there were still facets to Kisuke's personality he didn't understand.

Ichigo inclined his head. "How long?" he asked, voice echoing in the stark quiet of the bathroom, part of him wishing he could see the man's face. The other part of him was relieved he couldn't because he was still angry and hurt and didn't want his emotions seen.

"It's a century-old story," the blond replied after a long pause, atmosphere heavy and charged with emotion. "But suffice it to say, I was one of the first. I tested the Hougyoku on myself."

Nearly speechless, Ichigo could only sit in silence as he listened, unable to comprehend such dedication. He'd heard enough of the Hougyoku to understand the danger it presented. And Kisuke had tested it on himself?

Foolish. Brave but very foolish.

"Curse or blessing, I don't know," Kisuke continued, his tone taking on a regretful melancholy as he recalled some past event that happened long before Ichigo had even been thought about. "But thanks to that, I was able to help Hirako-san and the others when Aizen performed some experiments of his own."

"Wait, Aizen?" Ichigo was shocked, and he turned in his surprise, catching Kisuke's eyes.

Grey had darkened with remembered events, and the blond's gaze focused on the soapy floor before he looked up to meet Ichigo's. "That's probably a story for another time. It's a long one. But in the short of it, yes, what happened to them is entirely Aizen's doing. I merely tried to correct it and failed miserably."

Ichigo shifted position, the bath forgotten as he looked at his lover. He thought of Shinji in that moment, and though he was a Vizard, he didn't seem too troubled. He might have been exiled, but at least, he was alive. There was still a chance. And he thought that it in itself wasn't quite a failure.

He did, however, doubt that his assurances would help Kisuke at all. His lover had been harboring guilt and regret for the better part of a century. It would take more than a genuine reassurance on Ichigo's part to suture that wound. And he thought he understood in that moment why Kisuke had not told him.

For Kisuke, the fact that he was a Vizard was an open wound. Not so much because it was forbidden or because he didn't want to be but because of what else it meant. Because of whatever Aizen had done in that century past and of what Shinji and his friends had become. To Kisuke, it represented several failures on his part, a reminder of everything that had been lost and had yet to be regained. It was a wound still raw and bleeding, and time was not an effective enough salve.

It wasn't something that could easily be said, cheerfully explained, happily spoken. Revealing that he was a Vizard meant that there was so much more Kisuke would have to explain. He was right; it had nothing to do with trust. And everything to do with pain.

In that moment, Ichigo felt just a tad annoyed with himself. "You don't have to tell me," he finally said, apologetically ducking his head and letting the tense atmosphere wash over him.

There was a moment of silence before he heard Kisuke take in a slow, quiet breath. A hand settled on his head, smoothing water and soap over his hair.

"Sometimes, you are more mature than I give you credit."

Ichigo snorted lightly, the sound piercing the faint unease. "Of course. Who do you think I am? Renji?"

The slightest smile curled on Kisuke's lips. "Kami forbid," he returned, lightly teasing. "If you ever show up covered in tattoos, I may have to worry."

"That's not going to happen," Ichigo said, but it came out more of a fervent vow.

It wasn't that Renji's tattoos weren't cool, not that he'd _ever _admit that to the pineapple-headed idiot. He just didn't want to cover his own body in all that black ink. He had more sense than that. Those things were permanent!

Kisuke's fingers rubbed gently over his scalp for all of a second before Ichigo found himself pulled into the other man's embrace, their bodies pressed together with only the barrier of soapy foam between them. Ichigo nearly squawked at the unexpected motion but recognized it for what it was. Who would have known that the perverted shopkeeper was actually a secret cuddler?

He allowed the affection because it was warranted and just a bit wanted on his part. Kisuke was warm if not a bit soapy-slick, and he could feel it now, the slow and subtle pulse of his reiatsu. It thrummed over Kisuke's skin, no doubt because he'd been interrupted in the middle of a rather destructive fight with a boulder.

His cheek was pressed to Kisuke's chest, and he could hear the shopkeeper's heartbeat, strangely off-beat as though he'd recovered from a difficult situation. "So... that boulder was pretty dangerous, huh?"

"I can't exactly go outside and pick a fight with a Hollow, can I?" Kisuke countered, though there was humor in his voice. "My Hollow gets restless because I rarely fight. If I don't let him out now and then, he becomes more difficult to handle."

Ichigo considered. "You could always spar with me," he suggested, and the idea had a lot of appeal to him. "In fact, do it anyway. You owe me some better training now that I know you actually do know what you're doing."

"And I didn't before? Ichigo! You wound me!"

Ichigo felt a small smile coming to his lips, his anger pretty much dissipated. Maybe he wasn't as mature as he thought since he hadn't thought it through. But that was okay. In the end, he felt he understood his lover better. The gap that he'd always seen between them had lessened. And in a way, he felt more connected, knowing that they had something else in common.

He supposed that was all that really mattered.

* * *

a/n: Consider it practice for my eventual Past Imperfect. I promise! I do intend to write that fic. Eventually. Bwa ha! I fell in love with this pairing ever since "Shades of Grey" by SilverKytten on this site. I tried to do this pairing justice.

Hope you enjoyed!

And well, I have some good news and some bad news for my readers. Good news! I have found a publisher for some of my writing. Celebration all around. Bad news? I'm going to have to work pretty hard to be ready for the August release like she would like me to be, so... updates are going to slow a bit. I won't be able to write my fanfiction as much as I do now since I'll be devoting the majority of what free time I do have to working on the novels she wants.

Not to say I'm going to cease. Goodness no. I love my fanfiction too much to abandon it. I'll just update a little slower. I won't be able to match my once a week pace anymore.

Anyways, hope you liked the update! I'll try and post another chapter as soon as I can. Thanks for the support!


	126. Guilty Pleasures

**Title: Guilty Pleasures**

**Characters: Ikkaku with mentions of many others**

**Rating: T**

**Words: 1608**

**Warning: Crack, very much crack, slight spoilers, language**

**Description: He was the man with the secrets.**

**Dedication: My beta, Lady Azar, who pushed, poked, and prodded me into writing this. Kenpachi's is her favorite!  
**

* * *

He was the man with the secrets.

Strange, considering who he was. But Ikkaku was the man with the secrets. He knew everything there was to know about the Shinigami in Seireitei.

It had been a series of fortunate events that led him to his multiple discoveries, and once he'd learned their dirty little secrets, he didn't know what to do with them. Yet, Ikkaku continued to collect, snickering to himself in private at some of the information he had learned. Even a few choice bits about those from his own division.

The things Ikkaku knew would put most of the Gotei 13 to shame.

Zaraki Kenpachi, for example, his very own captain, had a secret obsession with reading trashy romance novels of the Harlequin variety. You know, the ones with beautiful girls in the arms of brawny men on the cover. In fact, he hid them under the floorboards in his bedroom, right beneath where he kept his futon.

And the fact that Yumichika was actually a natural blond. But he felt that it didn't suit his complexion, so he'd been dyeing his hair for as long as Ikkaku had known him. Top _and _bottom so that no one could find out the truth. Vain bastard. He spent a fortune on hair dyes, making sure that his roots would never be discovered. And yet, he had the audacity to mock Ikkaku for his lack of hair. Someday, he was going to pay for that.

Ikkaku knew a lot about others as well. And they didn't know he was aware of their guilty pleasures either. He smirked to himself at holding this knowledge.

No one knew that the honorable and upstanding Ukitake Jyuushiro was actually a rampant thief. He was constantly stealing books from the library, especially rare ones. And he never returned them.

Kuchiki Byakuya had a treasured toy from his childhood that he slept with every night. The stuffed teddy bear even had a name – Sweetcheeks-san, and there were heart-shaped designs embroidered on its butt. Rumor had it that the Kuchiki heir had thrown quite a hissy-fit last week when a maid had misplaced the stuffed creature. The poor girl had shaken for hours afterward.

Kurotsuchi Mayuri, known for his many oddities, had even gone to absurd lengths to make sure his teeth were sparkling, blinding white. In fact, he bleached them on a daily basis to the point where Ikkaku was surprised they hadn't fallen out yet. Freaky.

Prim and proper Unohana Retsu was not as perfect as everyone thought her to be. That flask she wore on her hip wasn't full of green tea – great for your health! But sake. And not just any old booze but the really good shit. When everyone thought she was promoting the healing properties of green tea, she was actually getting wasted on the job! A part of Ikkaku was terrified to find out what she was like sober.

Komamura Sajin might have looked like a fox, but he had some cat-like tendencies. In fact, he used to take naps during captain's meetings. Without his helmet, he couldn't do it anymore though. Thus the reason for his current irritable state. Contrary to popular belief, it had nothing to do with Tousen's betrayal.

By the way, said captain was a crossdresser. Before he took off to Hueco Mundo with Aizen and Ichimaru, Ikkaku had caught Tousen wandering around in high heels, a sparkling prom dress, and declaring himself to be Kana-chan to a mirror. Ikkaku had wondered for many reasons at the time. For example, why women's clothes? But even more importantly, why would a blind guy need a mirror?

Speaking of former traitors, Ikkaku had the scoop on Aizen Sousuke as well. The man, knowing for being perfection given human form, actually wasn't. He was terrified of walking around without tabi on, so he even slept in them. And reason being? He had six toes on each foot, and he'd often been teased for it as a child and when he entered the Academy.

Inevitably, when one spoke of Aizen, that brought to mind the long-standing rumor about his liaison with Urahara Kisuke. An utterly false conjecture. The truth of the matter was that Urahara was actually in love with another former captain, Hirako Shinji. Only he'd never confessed. He preferred following the man around in a manner that was vaguely stalkerish and attempting to win over the other blond's favorite child, Hiyori.

The true perpetrator of that vicious rumor was actually Ise Nanao, who got her kicks by starting all sorts of tales that weren't remotely true. But because she had said them, many people believed them to be utter fact. It had been Nanao who claimed that Ukitake was secretly Kuchiki Byakuya's grandfather, prompting a minor noble war. And it was she who started that incident in the Academy when several men were fighting over Kotetsu Isane.

And ah, Isane. Forget Matsumoto. The real fornicator of Seireitei was the tall vice-captain from the fourth division. She was quiet on the outside, but Ikkaku knew for a fact – and several reliable sources – that she was actually Seireitei's largest slut. The best he could remember she had successfully seduced over half of the leading forces in the Gotei 13. Which included but weren't limited to: Hisagi, Tousen, Renji, Yumichika, Akon, Iemura, Yamada, that popular guy from the fourth whose name Ikkaku could never remember, Iba, Sasakibe, and Aramaki.

Soifon was another of her victims, though both women had been drunk at the time. And she'd even seduced Sentarou in an attempt to steal her sister's man. Not to mention sleeping with Shiba Kaien both before and after he was married, though he'd heard the second time included the wife as well. There was also Kuchiki-hime's last lieutenant, who'd died in such a bizarre and abrupt fashion. Not to mention Komamura-taichou. And the mechanics of that one had completely boggled Ikkaku's mind. She'd attempted to seduce both Ukitake and Kyouraku, but they'd turned her down several times. Last but not least, Ikkaku had personally tumbled her a time or two. Best time he ever spent on his back, too.

He was sure there were others, but his sources couldn't remember them all.

Which reminded him, Kyouraku Shunsui and Tousen shared a few things in common. While the former didn't go into full dress, Ikkaku knew for a fact that he liked to wear women's underwear. Something about the way the silk felt against him; Ikkaku wasn't sure. He didn't want to ask because he honestly didn't want to know.

Kira Izuru had a sweet tooth that was almost voracious. It was because of him that Ukitake's candy dish was almost always empty. And poor Hitsugaya-taichou suffered the brunt of it because Ukitake mistakenly believed that he was taking it and kept trying to foist more candy off on the icy captain. In the meantime, Kira continued to raid the candy dish with no one but Ikkaku the wiser.

Speaking of candy, Ikkaku had it on good authority that Omaeda-fukutaichou was on his fifty-second diet and counting. None of the others had worked, though there was a rumor he managed to drop about five pounds with Atkin's. That was until he made a trip down to the Sara Lee factory and ruined everything.

Ikkaku's fellow thugs weren't spared from his knowledge either.

Tetsuzaemon actually enjoyed ikebana, flower arranging. His mother had taught him since she had wanted a girl; all she'd gotten was him. And even though Renji kept him inviting him to those classes, he kept stridently denying his interest. Thought it made him look weak or something.

Hisagi was terrified of needles to the point that he screeched like a girl if one came within ten feet of him. And those tattoos? Fake, fake, fake. They were the temporary kind. He scrubbed them off and reapplied them daily in an attempt to look manlier since the girls were always calling him "pretty."

Needles made him think of that sew-happy freak, Ishida, the one who was Ichigo's friend. Ikkaku even knew a thing or two about him. For example, the fact that he had perfect vision. He only wore glasses so that he could look smart and lord that intelligence over his fellow classmates. Especially Ichigo.

Scarily enough, despite her formerly sweet exterior, Hinamori Momo was quite the strange individual beneath. Her captain having abandoned her hadn't managed to quell her obsession for the man. Even now, she made voodoo dolls for those she suspected liking on her precious Aizen and stuck them with pins every night. Very, very creepy. Ikkaku wasn't sure they should have let her out of the psych ward so soon.

Truthfully, Ikkaku even knew a bit of rumor about the upper echelon, Yamamoto-soutaichou in particular. Not only had he been married eight times, but it was to the same woman. It seemed like Yamamoto-soutaichou couldn't quite give up his first love, though he tried a good many times. Rumor had it, they were attempting a ninth, and Ikkaku doubted they were ever going to learn.

In all honesty, while others had little black books full of phone numbers and addresses, Ikkaku had one full of secrets. He kept it hidden, on him at all times, and added to it on an almost daily basis. He was proud of his collection. So while others guiltily collected their special vices, Ikkaku gathered secrets.

He was the man with the knowledge, and no one knew it.

* * *

a/n: Bwa ha! I find this rather amusing. Heh heh. There will probably be more in the future. I think my favorite is Tousen's. Hah.

I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update again whenever I can!


	127. Recipe for a Villain

**Title: Recipe for a Villain**

**Characters: Aizen with mentions of the Vizard and the Gotei 13**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: OOC, massive crack**

**Words: 1,622**

**Description: He was a Shinigami on the edge, only to be shoved over.**

**Dedication: To **_**Azar-sama**_**, who first gave me the idea for this. **

* * *

He hadn't always been the bad guy.

There was a time, many centuries ago, when Aizen Sousuke was a really nice person. Shy and generous, kind and gentle. The very epitome of the mask he had worn when making his plots against Soul Society. That time, however, was long before he entered Gotei 13 and was denied upon multiple occasions his requests. Long before the Academy when he was subjected to the harassments of Kensei and Love. It was long before any of that.

Sousuke had once wanted to be the good guy. And really, his capacity for patience was quite wide. He almost thought it was bottomless. But there was a limit to kindness. Was it his fault that they pushed him past the edge?

He had been a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed youngster who entered the Shinigami Academy with high hopes. He wanted to succeed. He was going to make friends, having been used to being by himself at home. He had been looking forward to the opportunity. He thought everything was going to be great.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

To this day, Sousuke didn't know what set him off as a target. True, children would be children. But why they had been so _cruel_ to him. Why he'd been picked out of all the rest… that was a mystery he'd never solve.

It had started with Shinji, who was his senpai, and happened to be a leader in his own rights of a group of friends. He had an easygoing smile, and people got along well with him. He was a celebrity at the Academy for his skills and friendliness, even if his grades weren't nearly the best.

Sousuke might have admired him just a bit. And when Shinji introduced himself, Sousuke might have thought he was lucky.

Yet, he soon realized just the opposite. Shinji hadn't wanted a friend but a gopher. Someone to play tricks on and laugh at, and yet, Sousuke bore it all because it couldn't get any worse. Even if it did take them _months_ to remember his name. For awhile they were just calling him "Glasses-chan" and leaving it at that.

Shinji liked to steal his uniform when he wasn't looking, sometimes right off the clothesline, and hide it in random places. The trash. The river. Underneath Shinji's bed. Wherever the mood struck him. And then, he'd watch as Sousuke ran around desperately trying to find something to wear before class started and he was berated _again_.

Love and Kensei thought it was ever so amusing to push him around and take his lunch money. Or the specially prepared bento his mother sent with him on days she remembered that he existed. Not that the others didn't do it also, but those two were the main perpetrators, Kensei giving him that eagle-eyed stare and Love all menacing with his large hair and gaze hidden by his glasses.

Lisa was the worst of them. She was his childhood friend and the one who had introduced Sousuke to the entire group of friends. He should have known from her example, considering how much she had beat on him when they were children. He didn't understand how a girl could be so violent. And she was the one to tell them about Sousuke's toes, a fact he was always uncomfortable discussing. Like it was his fault he had six on each foot. They loved to hold him down, pull off his waraji and tabi and poke at his feet. _Especially_ Lisa.

Hiyori was only fair in that she picked on Shinji as much as she did Sousuke himself. Only she kicked Sousuke in the crotch as opposed to the face blows that Shinji received. And later, after becoming said man's vice-captain, Shinji refused to allow Sousuke to wear protection. Said it would toughen him up, make him a man or something idiotic like that. It brought a whole new meaning to the term "blue balls."

Which, by the way, kept its original meaning his entire six years at the Academy. He couldn't get a date to save his life. Apparently, nice guys really do finish last. As in dead last. He was the friend. The one the girls came crying to when their bastard boyfriend's were horrible. He was nice and dependable but not dateable.

Rose, philanderer that he was, never lacked for a date. And the one time Sousuke managed to get a girl to agree to go out with him, Rose stole her right from under his nose. He never even had a chance.

As a result of his girlfriend-less existence, everyone thought he was gay or at least really repressed. Honestly, the rumors that produced lingered long after he had left the Academy. To this day, he still didn't know who started the one about he and Urahara Kisuke, but Evil Overlord Aizen Sousuke vowed that when he did find out, they would experience his full wrath. He'd been saving it for some time.

He supposed the Academy might have been more tolerable if it weren't for his uncle. Kyouraku Shunsui occasionally stopped by for a visit. And sometimes, he even taught a few classes out of the kindness of his heart. Of course, he never ever let Sousuke forget the fact that he'd once changed little Sou-kun's diapers, and he'd spend hours regaling the students with tales of Sousuke's youth. That sort of embarrassment wasn't easily lived down.

When he finally graduated from the Academy, a couple of years behind the youngest of his tormentors, he thought it was going to be over. That now he could finally shine and make his place in the Gotei13. He was determined to rise in the ranks, to show off the results of his efforts.

And well, the plot might have started just a bit then. The others – Shinji and gang – were only worse once he was more accessible to their clutches.

Originally, it might have just been revenge. Only revenge and nothing more. Against his tormentors and those that had made his school years a living hell. He had planned to settle things down after forcing them to flee Soul Society, the entire group now exiled. He hadn't really wanted to hurt anyone else.

Little did he know, it was nearly impossible to get promoted without having someone on the inside. Try as he might, he couldn't convince Ukitake-taichou to make him a vice-captain. He had all the qualifications. He was the most skilled in the division. He couldn't make the other man notice, however, no matter how hard he tried.

When he finally achieved bankai, Sousuke applied for a captain's position. He originally wanted the seventh, but he was denied. He tried for the third. Then the twelfth. And even the sixth. But no one would take his application seriously. The Kidoh Corps wouldn't take him either. They sent his application back _six _times.

It was only the timely appearance of his uncle, spouting off more stories of his childhood, that finally granted Sousuke position in the fifth. His former captain's spot, the one place Sousuke _did not_ want to accept. Yet, it was either that or none at all.

He grudgingly took his place and started to rebuild his existence. Thoughts of rebellion were pushed aside. He needed his vengeance.

And then, the final straw, Hinamori Momo was assigned as his vice-captain. He thought she would be fine. Cheerful and kind, she only ever praised him. She was a hard worker, and her eyes shone with adoration for him. Truly, no one could ever ask for a better vice-captain. He thought things were finally turning around for him. Life could go on.

Until his inbox started getting flooded with love letters and he constantly felt eyes in the back of his head. She gushed about him to her friends, talking about things that never happened, and everywhere Sousuke looked, she was there, like a puppy wagging her tail.

He exited the bath, and she was holding a towel for him, smiling all innocently but with definite perversions dancing in her head. She made him a healthy bento every day without fail. And if he didn't eat it, she cried. Huge crocodile tears that made him look like a terrible person to everyone else. For a while, they thought that _he_ was the one taking advantage of her. He was reprimanded by Yamamoto-soutaichou, _Twice__. _Only sweet Gin-chan – who was equally ostracized – believed him when he claimed that she was actually the stalker. They thought he was seeking attention since all of his friends had been so cruelly exiled.

Pfft. If only.

When Yamamoto denied his request for a new vice-captain, well, that was the last that Sousuke could take. He bit back his retort with a gentle smile, thanked the captain-commander for his time, and headed back to his quarters.

Not a violent man, Sousuke didn't once consider breaking something. And drinking himself into oblivion had no appeal. He simply headed for his closet, and the small box concealed on the top shelf. He pulled it out, leafed through the many papers, and smiled to himself. All of his plans were here, in detail, step-by-step. Everything he had thought to do but put aside because his revenge was complete.

It wasn't his fault. He had been a nice guy. He just wanted to save people and be successful and have a pretty, non-stalker girlfriend who would eventually become his wife. Was it his fault that they had driven him to the edge? And then promptly pushed him right over it?

Sousuke never wanted to be the villain.

But in all honesty, he was starting to enjoy it just a bit.

* * *

a/n: Heh, this was funnier in retrospect. Ah, well. There's a bit of continuity-with-canon issues in here, too, but oh well. I had fun writing it.

Plenty more where this came from, though I don't really know when I'll update again. Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for your patience as my attentions are diverted somewhere else temporairily.


	128. In the End

**Title: In the End**

**Pairings: Shunsui/Gin**

**Rating: K**

**Warnings: Implied slash, implied character death, end of war fic  
**

**Words: 1007**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Stray**_**. Nothing**** really matters except the things we never said.**

* * *

"I was waiting, you know," Shunsui said to the stark silence of the room. His voice echoed along the walls, sounding just as empty.

His hand clung to another, thin and pale, seemingly gentle but for the strength that it had once possessed. His nose twitched at the scent of antiseptic and cleaner, the sterility of a medical facility. He'd always hated them, but he'd endured for the moment. He had to be here; he was the only one alive enough to care.

"I thought eventually that you would come back. I suppose Kira-kun and I are much the same like that," he added with a low, bitter chuckle.

Kira-kun was gone though. And so was Matsumoto. Which was why only Shunsui was here and why only his hand was clasped around another, nearly swallowing the slim digits. His dark skin so obvious against milky pale flesh. Skin he remembered as being soft and smooth, almost womanly but for the lithe muscle it covered.

"I never forgot," Shunsui continued, and if his voice caught on the words, he pretended that he didn't notice. Just like he didn't notice the warmth that trickled down his face and the dampness staining his shihakushou.

Just his shihakushou. No pink haori. No captain's haori. Nothing to signify the man he was outside this room, the position he had taken, the place he now stood. Here, he was just Kyouraku Shunsui, a man with a thrice-broken heart.

"I believed that there had to be something else because I knew you. A lot better than that bastard did; that was for damn sure. So I thought... all I had to do was wait."

The words lingered in the air, hanging in the stillness. They were the utter truth, which was probably why they hurt so much. And he wished to kami that they were being heard by someone other than himself. He wished that he had said them sooner, everything but the three little words that never meant much to him.

"And I did. I waited." Shunsui paused, thinking of cold beds and tasteless sake and empty words of flattery and eyes always, always watching the sky. "I waited and I--" His voice broke then, and he dropped his head, his entire body slumping forward.

He was tired. He was just really tired. Everything, the past decade, the war and the pain and the tears... He was really tired.

There was a feeling there of wanting to go back and change the past. Of fixing his mistakes. Of acting sooner and speaking louder, of doing something more than nothing. Of clinging more tightly to that which was precious because once lost that sort of thing couldn't be regained.

All the power in the world, and he couldn't hold onto the thing that was most important to him.

A quiet knock on the doorway. "Kyouraku-soutaichou? It's time," his vice-captain – a woman he barely knew – called through the wood, not daring to enter.

Swallowing thickly, Shunsui nodded, though she couldn't see. "Very well. Give me a moment."

"Yes, sir."

He heard her footsteps as she padded away, no doubt to wait for him down the hallway.

Time was up.

Chewing on his lip, Shunsui rose to his feet, fingers tightly clinging to the cold hand in his. Always cold, he remembered. Too thin to maintain his own body heat.

"This time, it really is goodbye," he murmured, leaning over the still form on the bed.

His free hand slid through soft silver strands, and he pressed a kiss to the pale forehead. He wished for one last time to be able to see those beautiful blue eyes, shining brightly at him. To have that honestly happy smile cast his direction. To feel long limbs taking over his bed, stealing his body heat, clinging tightly.

Shunsui wanted to linger. He didn't want to let go. But he forced himself to do so anyway, uncurling his fingers from the dead ones and stepping away from the bed. He resisted the urge to return, his fingers last caressing one thin cheek.

His eyes traced the figure of his former lover for one last time. And then, he turned, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. The door closed with a quiet snick behind him. He paused just outside, the emptiness inside of him growing with unnatural strength.

An unseated Shinigami was waiting for him – one Shunsui didn't recognize – his arms laden with two familiar haori and a straw hat. He also held Shunsui's zanpakutou, the captain not wanting to take them into the room with him. The Shinigami stepped forward at Shunsui's appearance.

"Sir?"

Shunsui shook his head and reached for the white fabric, shoving his hands through the arms and sliding it onto his shoulders. The first division fell across his back, immeasurably heavy. Katen Kyoukotsu slid into his obi, a welcome and familiar presence. Comforting. And then, Shunsui turned down the corridor to where his vice-captain was waiting for him.

"What about--"

"Leave it for him," Shunsui answered, raking fingers through his significantly shortened brown hair. He swallowed over the lingering lump in his throat. "He'll get cold."

"Yes, sir."

No questions asked. The unnamed Shinigami just obeyed.

Taking a deep breath, Shunsui didn't look back. He didn't dare else his waning control would fail him.

At the head of the corridor, his vice-captain – a pretty young woman who reminded him a lot of Nanao – turned to greet him. She adjusted her glasses, and her pale green eyes lifted to his face. She bit her bottom lip briefly before speaking.

"Is everything--"

"Let's go." He shook his head, cutting her off before the question emerged because he couldn't answer it honestly and hold together. He simply couldn't.

"Yes, sir."

Shunsui didn't dare look back. There was nothing to wait for anymore.

* * *

a/n: Honestly, this is one of my favorite oneshots that I have ever written. I hadn't ever intended to write it, but it hit me out of nowhere and I absolutely had to write it. There's so much unspoken here that I adore it. It's heart-breaking, but I love it anyways.

So, I hope that you guys enjoyed it as well! Thanks for reading!


	129. By Its Cover

**Title: By Its Cover**

**Pairing: Urahara/Muguruma**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: Light spoilers for Kensei's background, possible OOC**

**Words: 1150**

**Description: Two unlikely people find they share a collector's interest in a single item. **

**Dedication: For **_**Dorkchic**_**, who wanted Urahara/Kensei. **

* * *

As the man who knew how to acquire almost anything, there were still some objects that proved difficult to procure. A rare copy of _Psycho_ – an American film from the fifties – was one of such item. Which was why March 3rd found Kisuke hunting the dusty and somewhat aged racks of an old video store. It was going out of business, and a certain acquaintance had hinted that the coveted movie to complete his collection would be found here.

Nose twitching, the sound of Kisuke's geta was lost amid the noise and hustle. He was not the only avid gatherer hoping to complete a collection. He rifled through stacks, eyes seeking the prize through dim lighting and the increasing aggression of the other shoppers. Oh, how he hated being on the other end of the counter.

Kisuke dragged a hand over his forehead, wiping away a bead of sweat. It was sweltering in the confined room, trapped with humans in a place with little air circulation. He was beginning to think that this was an utterly fruitless venture. An hour of searching had turned up nothing.

He tugged off his hat, waving it in front of his face and wishing he hadn't left his fan at home. And then, he saw it. On the next rack over, poking out from a barrel of untouched copies of _Gigli_. The very prize he sought.

The former captain wasted no time. He nonchalantly elbowed an old grannie out of the way and practically dove for the VHS before anyone else could grab it. Behind him, the old woman let out a stream of curses that would make even Abarai-kun's ears burn, virgin that he was. Kisuke felt victory within his reach, his fingers wrapping around the coveted movie. In the same moment, on the other side of the bin, someone else grabbed _Psycho _as well.

A competitor.

Pale eyes narrowed as Kisuke increased his grip, surprised by the slither of reiatsu that crept up his skin. Straightening, Kisuke firmed his jaw and looked into the eyes of his enemy.

A familiar face greeted him. "Muguruma-san?" Kisuke's jaw dropped in surprise. His grip, however, did not ease.

Neither did Kensei's.

"Urahara-san," the former-Shinigami-turned-Vizard greeted in return. Golden eyes glinted. "You are a fan?"

"Of course." Kisuke smiled sweetly, unashamedly raking his gaze over the other man's muscular frame, barely contained by that jersey and those shorts.

He had always considered Kensei an attractive man, especially with the changes from his time as a Shinigami. The hair cut, piercings, and new garments were a definite plus. Kisuke appreciated the muscle-bearing attire. And he had to admit a sudden and newfound desire to run his fingers through short white hair.

Even so, he wasn't going to give up this prize.

"You understand that I won't be able to surrender this to you," he added cheerfully, letting a small tendril of his reiatsu escape, clashing against the bits that Kensei exuded. "I have been searching for it for some time."

Kensei was not impressed by the display, though he did seem to notice Kisuke's appreciative look. "Me, too. So it seems we have a problem."

"Slightly, yes," Kisuke agreed, still clinging to the much coveted item. They were beginning to draw a crowd, he noticed. "But I'm sure we can solve this like adults?"

"A duel to the death then?"

It was stated so frankly that even Kisuke had to take a moment to realize it for the absurd statement that it was. He hadn't known Kensei was capable of such teasing.

There was a gasp from the crowd. Kisuke winced. Those Vizard, always so melodramatic. Though he would have expected it more from Shinji than Kensei. Perhaps they had been spending too much time together. Then again, that glint in those eyes could have been a hint of humor never seen previously.

Kisuke tipped his head back, looking _up_ at Kensei, forced a little nearer by the press of the crowd. This close, Kensei's scent was stronger, some kind of men's cologne like in all the TV commercials. Intoxicating.

"I don't think bloodshed is necessary," Kisuke replied huskily and was rewarded by the sight of Kensei's pupils dilating in interest.

Along with his urge to finger Kensei's hair, he was struck with another and far stronger impulse to lift Kensei's shirt and splay his hands over that muscular chest. He honestly couldn't remember if he had put that infamous tattoo on Kensei's gigai or not. He wanted to find out because damn if he didn't do some fine work.

Kensei's mouth drew into a determined frown, demonstrating that resolve that had made him so popular as a captain. "What do you suggest then?"

"You could just... give it to me," Kisuke stated, adding a meaningful tilt of his head as he pressed closer.

The heat of the room made it nearly suffocating. And the observing eyes made Kisuke bold. He really wanted that movie.

Kensei's grip had not eased. "Why would I--"

Kisuke kissed him. There in front of the whole crowd, amidst a humid heat ripe with the scent of dust and mildew. Kensei's mouth was slack against his in surprise until Kisuke licked across his lips, silently requesting entrance. Only then did Kensei participate. His lips parted and their tongues touched, the Vizard tasting of cherry and anise. Odd.

Around them, the crowd displayed a mixture of surprise, disgust, and admiration. There was even a tinge of envy. Not that Kisuke particularly cared. In all likelihood, he would never see these nameless humans again.

Despite the thoughts of continuing the kiss, Kisuke felt it when Kensei's grip eased, and he took that chance to the fullest. He ended the kiss and whirled away, neatly snatching _Psycho_ out of Kensei's slack fingers.

A satisfied smile danced across Kisuke's lips. "Don't take it personal, Muguruma-san," he commented as Kensei watched after him with little amusement. "But I always get what I want." His geta made a sharp, final clack against the floor.

A few onlookers clapped for his victory.

When Kisuke paused to look over his shoulder, however, Kensei was smiling. No, leering to be more precise. His eyes had darkened, becoming molten pools of interest. His earrings gleamed in the dim lighting.

"So do I, Urahara-san," he called to the shopkeeper's departing form. "So do I."

An excited shiver crept up Kisuke's spine at the almost-promise. He fingered the coveted tape, admiring the plastic-wrapped cover. He thought of Kensei's lips and the faint taste of licorice.

"Let the games begin," he murmured to himself and found that he was quite interested in Kensei's revenge.

* * *

a/n: There may, at some point, be a sequel to this. They have the potential to be a steaming-hot pairing. Bwa ha ha. Hope you liked!


	130. A Different Kind of Pain

**Title: A Different Kind of Pain**

**Pairings: Stark/Byakuya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: implied mansex and boykisses, implied character death, implied after the war **

**Words: 1,689**

**Description: When there is nothing left, the greatest pain is being forgotten. **

**Dedication: For **_**Adela Nightmoon**_**, who requested a Stark/Byakuya, though I doubted she wanted something as angsty as this. I apologize!**

**Inspired by "Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace.**

* * *

He stands at the window, staring out at his garden. It is in bloom this time of the year, and there is a sweet smell on the air, fragrant and intoxicating. He breathes it in along with the cool breeze. The scent travels into his lungs, the brief current of air flowing over what bit of his sweat-sticky skin is bared.

Above him, the moon is in a crescent, a sterile and pale light illuminating the lines of his garden. It glitters in the koi pond, missing so many of its fish because of a certain mischievous member of the eleventh division. He remembers being originally annoyed by her behavior. And then, he allowed it with a leniency that surprised him as much as it did everyone else.

To each his own, he supposes.

He does this from time to time, watches the endless night sky and thinks about things that have gone and passed and won't come again. He thinks of the feelings inside his heart, one that everyone feels is cold and shuttered. He thinks of those that mean so much to him.

He thinks of family and the loss of it. Hisana's smiling face, ever so fragile, flutters against the rippling waters. He sees Rukia, always tiptoeing around him, afraid that she will be cast aside. As if he could do such a thing. She is his family. He might not show it as well as others, but it is the truth.

Byakuya wonders if hearts are things so easily mended, like a torn shihakushou or simply waiting for the blossom of a perennial to flower once more. There is this echoing emptiness, as if a drop of water has fallen into the dark and he's still waiting to hear the plop of it hitting ground. He thinks that the pain isn't so much because Hisana is gone from him, but that she is gone without expressing her true feelings for him. That she was taken from his life before he could express himself properly is a pain he can't easily forget. He wants to believe that he was the only one in her heart, but he often caught her, staring out the window the same way he hovers on the balcony now. She had such a fond expression on her face, a wistful longing. A touch of loneliness. And as much as he had wanted to comfort her, he didn't know how. He didn't know why.

Out of the darkness, a hand reaches for him, and he feels fingers flit against the back of his neck in the same moment that a familiar reiatsu seems to surround him. The length of his hair is moved aside, the brush of bare fingers over his nape. Warm lips press softly to his bare shoulder, an arm sliding around and pulling him into an embrace. A chin sets itself on his shoulder.

"It's definitely a prettier picture than the one I'm used to seeing," the voice murmurs in his ear, sliding silky smooth down his spine.

The free hand that settles on his hip squeezes tightly. Just a bit dangerously.

Byakuya hardly blinks. "I imagine so. In that dead world, there is nothing but emptiness."

The low chuckle shouldn't entice him as much as it does. "Ah, and you would be one to know of emptiness, taichou-san." Fingers slide across his stomach in a touch that is a painfully familiar caress. Intimate and soothing.

Byakuya's hands tighten around the curtain, his eyes focused on the scenery before him. "All too well," he agrees because there is no argument in him. The air smells of sakura, even if it is beyond the season for them.

He is still waiting for that drop to fall. The lone shed tear.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"You mock me."

"I would never." His lover chuckles again, lips and tongue nibbling on Byakuya's ear, body a warmth that calls gently.

Byakuya feels the brush of a goatee against a bared shoulder before the fabric of his robe is tucked back over him. "Nothing can come of this."

"So you say every time. And yet, here we are again."

The moon wavers before his eyes. "You are a fool."

"Ah, that I am. And so are you. We are all fools, aren't we?"

He is much too flippant, but when has his lover not been? From their first meeting to now, he has always taken everything in stride, has always gone after what he wants without regret.

Byakuya thinks about broken hearts again and how it's just as difficult to wallow in loneliness as it is to try and ease the pangs of isolation. One can suffer or one can try. Either way, it takes the same effort, the same pain. And seeking relief doesn't necessarily mean he'll find it. It doesn't mean he can chase it away either.

Hisana was supposed to be his escape. Instead, she was the one to flee from him. They were always doing that, he noticed. The people he cared about, leaving one after another.

He thinks that is the only way to remember someone, to never forget them. The stamp of pain always lingers more strongly than that of happiness. He'll never forget Hisana; Byakuya knows this for certain. And loss is always more desolate than gain. It strikes firmly and with resonance, vibrating instead until there is no choice but to bear it.

Lips press to Byakuya's shoulder at the same moment a stronger breeze stirs, buffeting against them and his curtains. "Time is short," his lover says, fingers a daring dance up Byakuya's body as he gently grips an aristocratic chin.

The sun is peeking over the horizon; he can see the soft blue invading against the darker night. "It was never long to begin with," Byakuya replies, but he allows his head to be turned, to accept the kiss that is pressed against his lips.

He thinks about falling into that embrace one more time. To feel those hands smoothing over his skin, those lips pressing over him. To move his body in a familiar, timeless rhythm and let his sweat soak the sheets. To finally let go of everything that's still trapped inside but begging to be freed.

The fingers move from his chin to cup his face, prolonging the kiss. Deepening it. Making something that is evanescent last as long as seems possible.

The knock on his door intrudes on the moment and Byakuya's ears, lulled by the soft sounds in the room. Yet, the kiss ends slowly, savoring every single moment.

Time is not just short but gone. Passed quickly just like the night, already fading to morning. They separate because the knocking is more insistent, reminding them that the time for lingering goodbyes is not their luxury.

Grey eyes meet pale green, and then, Stark is pulling away from him, idly adjusting the fall of his own robes. The door opens without invitation and spills the light from the hallway into the darkness of the room. Byakuya can feel their reiatsu, a paltry thing compared to his own, but he doesn't think to resist. He wonders why he can't make the thought cross his mind.

He's given up already, and he hasn't even tried yet. Is this the consequence of an already shattered heart?

"It's time," a voice announces from the doorway, one whose owner Byakuya does not recognize save for the authority alone. He doesn't need to know his identity to understand his purpose.

Byakuya drops his hand from the curtains and turns away from the open door to the veranda, feeling unaccountably cold in his thin nemaki. He thinks for a moment that he might hear Senbonzakura somewhere far away. But he also knows better than that. She has been gone from him for some time now. Just like everything else.

"You could still change your mind," Stark says, eyes watching as Byakuya crosses the floor, bare feet padding incredibly soft across the polished wood flooring.

He pauses near where Stark stands, form illuminated by the light from the hall. The escort waits patiently but not for long.

"Can I?" Byakuya asks, and his shoulders feel incredibly heavy. Burdened by an invisible weight. His fingers twitch in memory of Senbonzakura's hilt.

Stark inclines his head, lips sliding into a slow smile that is far from its original intentions. "You wouldn't be you if you did, I suppose." He reaches up with fingers raking through his hair as he slouches. "Goodbye? Farewell? Whatever I'm supposed to say here, even if I don't really want to."

"You could always wish me luck?" Byakuya's voice is soft but sincere.

The edges of his mouth twitches. "And that rarely-vaunted humor makes an appearance." Stark sighs, lifting a hand as if trying to decide what to do with it before dropping it again. "Good luck, Byakuya. If that's what you want."

Wanting has nothing to do with it. Or needing. Or desiring. There's a compulsion here. An understanding that he has no choice. That he can't continue to betray his own heart like this, over and over. He has his pride.

The manacles are heavy around his wrists. And he doesn't look over his shoulder as they lead him away. He doesn't resist, so they do not treat him roughly. They allow him to keep his dignity, walking with head held high even if he is wearing only a nemaki and the vague after-scent of Stark still clinging to his skin.

He'll never forget. And neither will Stark. The pain of loss echoes the strongest.

This Byakuya knows best.

* * *

Nemaki: a Japanese sleep robe.

AN: And before I'm bombarded with questions, I don't know where this came from. I don't know what it means except vaguely or what exactly happened. It's just a scene that came to me, and I like it! *grins* I may expand it later, but who knows? Thoughts?


	131. Excuse me, miss?

**Title: "Excuse me, miss?" **

**Characters: Jyuushiro, Shunsui**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: OOC perhaps**

**Words: 737**

**Description: Because even mild-mannered gentlemen have a breaking point. **

**Dedication: For **_**The Smallest Ghost**_**, who wanted to see Ukitake being mistaken for a woman. Shunsui finds it funny; Ukitake doesn't. **

* * *

He supposed he should have gotten used to this by now. After decades of dealing with the same thing over and over, Jyuushiro shouldn't allow his annoyance to respond for him anymore. He really was too mature to be like this. But if Shunsui didn't stop egging him on with that ridiculous chortle, perhaps he wouldn't get so angry.

Jyuushiro should be used to the stares by now. To being watched as he walked down the street, whether in Soul Society or the living world. To being admired and gawked at and "checked out" according to the teenage vernacular of the living humans. But there was something about those lusty leers that really set him on edge, that made him grind his teeth in a reminder that he shouldn't kidoh the idiots just because they were... well, idiots.

"Excuse me, miss?"

And that right there was the reason Jyuushiro wasn't used to this by now. It was one thing to be admired for his looks and his stately bearing, for his kindness and his smile. It was another thing entirely to be gawped at because they thought he was a woman. Of course, walking beside Shunsui hardly helped matters, but he could no more cease being friends with Shunsui than the man himself could stop sucking down sake in large quantities. Bad habits are hard to break, after all.

Jyuushiro whirled, a glare from the furies of Hell blazing behind his normally kind and gentle eyes. It pinned on the passing human who now thought today was a good day to die. The effect, however, was ruined by the fluttery, flirty flip his hair had taken with his whirl. It settled softly around his face, looking for all the world, as if he'd planned it.

Beside him, there was a snicker. And so help him, Jyuushiro was going to make Shunsui pay for that later.

"In case you have not noticed," Jyuushiro growled, drawing himself to his full height which was a good match for Shunsui's. "I am a _man_. Yes! I have long hair. Yes! I have fair skin. Yes! I manage to bathe every day and clean my house and cook a decent meal. But the last time I checked, I have a _penis_. In fact, I have two of them." Yeah, there. That would show them. He was a _man_.

Shunsui, for his part, was practically gasping for breath in his attempts to control his laughter and failing miserably. In fact, he had just given up entirely and was now doubled over, cackling his amusement to all who could hear him. And there were many who could.

The creature – or human rather – looked at him with slightly gibbering eyes, sort of like a startled doe. "I was just going to ask where you got that?" he squeaked with a shaky finger pointing towards the bag clutched in one of Jyuushiro's hands, which was from a rather popular bakery. "But I see that you're busy, so I'm really sorry."

And with a mortified flare of heat in his face, the stranger scampered off in another direction as fast as his sneaker-clad feet would take him. Jyuushiro stared in utter disbelief. The wind picked up then, setting his free-flowing hair to waving around his face. The paper bag rustled just a bit. Shunsui laughed his ass off, desperately in need of a good kick.

And now, everyone stared at him for a different reason. The appreciative leers had turned into discomfort and perhaps an edge of fear, which was a plus. Except that they were all inching away as if he might snap at any moment and attack them all. Bwa ha ha! Which, you know, Jyuushiro might just do if Shunsui did not _stop laughing at him_.

"Shunsui!" he hissed, whirling back around with another unplanned hair flip and glaring at his counterpart, who somehow managed to be manly even with a bright pink shirt and long hair as well. "Stop that."

Sucking in a desperate breath, Shunsui shook his head. "Two of them, Jyuu-chan? What _have _you been hiding from me?" Of course, that just set the sake-sucking bastard off again.

And Jyuushiro, meanwhile, fumed. "Oh, shut up," he muttered and stalked away, clutching his extra-large brownie to his side as if it were the cause to all his ills.

He really should be used to this by now.

* * *

a/n: Crack at its finest, I must say. I hope you enjoyed! There's more to come, including more requests. I've been trying to knock off a few of them this week so you should start seeing more popping in here and there.


	132. Thanks for the Memories

**Title: Thanks for the Memories**

**Characters: Rukia, Ichigo/Grimmjow**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: boykisses, AU/AR, fangirliness**

**Words: 1264**

**Description: Rukia thought she knew everything about Ichigo, but she hadn't known this. **

**Dedication: For **_**dishrag-chan**_**, who wanted an AR IchiGrimm from someone else's point of view. **

* * *

"Come on, Ichigo. You can tell me."

He scowled at her behind the rim of his glasses, quickly stuffing ungraded tests and papers into his briefcases. "There's nothing to tell. Quit badgering me."

Rukia pouted, her lips drawing into a disappointed frown as she settled both hands on her hips, glaring up at him. "It has to be someone," she insisted, knowing this for a certainty. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be in such a hurry to get out of here."

He snapped his briefcase shut, reaching up with the other hand to curl a finger in the knot of his tie and loosen it. "There's such a thing as wanting to go home, Rukia."

She blew air out of her mouth, not believing him for a second. Rukia was certain that Ichigo had a girlfriend. They were childhood friends! She knew him a lot better than he wanted to admit. But this... this, she didn't know, and it bothered her.

"Not like this," she argued back, folding her arms across her chest.

Ichigo didn't give her another look, grabbing his briefcase and sliding past her towards the door. "See you in the morning," he dismissed and flipped a hand over his shoulder. "Don't be late again."

She really felt a bit like kicking him, but Rukia refrained because they were adults now and teachers to boot. She couldn't be seen kicking her fellow co-workers. The students were too amused the last time she was caught and talked about it for weeks.

Giving a harrumph, Rukia couldn't help her curiosity. She wanted to know. Ichigo didn't rush out of school to go home to the emptiness of his apartment. He was definitely meeting with someone. But who? She knew most of their friends, and they were already either matched up or of no interest to Ichigo.

Who was it?

From the window, she could see Ichigo leaving by the main gate, and to her astonishment, he didn't turn right as he was supposed to. But left and away from his apartment. In fact, away from pretty much anyplace she could think he would go. Perhaps to his lover's place?

She had to know!

Determination growing, Rukia didn't think twice about her plans. Thank goodness the grounds were already empty of students. She didn't need anyone seeing her climb out of the window. She didn't want to lose sight of Ichigo, not that having orange hair was usual or anything. She would easily be able to pick him out of the crowd.

This was hardly dignified for her position. And if her brother saw her acting so recklessly, he would have surely chastised her. But well, this was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity. If Ichigo wouldn't tell her, then she'd just have to find out for herself.

Rukia jogged out of the front gate and immediately turned to the left, scanning the streets. She didn't immediately see him and hurried down the sidewalk to where it broke off in four directions. She caught sight of him down the left fork, already in the midst of shucking off his outer coat and slinging it over his arm. It really was hot out here, reminding her that summer was coming soon.

It was pathetically easy to trail Ichigo, her dear friend not knowing any better to think that he would be followed. He should have known that she was tenacious, that she would not rest without finding the truth. If he had just gone home, she would have also. But this deviance from routine, it was highly suspect. And Rukia was determined.

A good twenty-minute hike through the streets of Karakura later and Rukia found herself hiding on the other side of a busy intersection, watching as Ichigo strode towards what appeared to be a scrapyard. What business he would have there, she didn't know. Rukia waited until he'd stepped through the gates before hurrying across the street, carefully avoiding the traffic. She paused, peering within and finding a handy-dandy pile of junk to hide behind.

And there was Ichigo, striding with purpose towards one corner of the lot where a loud clatter of noise was echoing through the yard. But as Ichigo approached, the noise stopped. Rukia peered around a rusted car, finally laying eyes on the person Ichigo had come to visit. Vivid blue hair matched by vivid blue eyes, tattoos on the face, and a generally loud disposition that Rukia thought she recognized.

His name was Grimmjow, and if she remembered correctly, he'd been one of the punks from their own high school days. One that had liked to attack Ichigo all the time just to prove he was stronger, and one of the key members of the Espada gang. She had always thought he didn't like Ichigo much and the feelings were mutual. Clearly, this was not the case.

"Slumming it, Kurosaki?"

"Ah, shut it, Grimmjow," Ichigo returned, swiping a hand over the back of his forehead in the heat of the sun. "You're the one that wanted to meet here."

Grimmjow smirked, his teeth slightly fanged like Rukia remembered. "Just cause I wanted to see if ya'd actually do it."

"Asshole."

"And ya love me anyway."

Rukia had only a second to let her jaw drop at this behavior before she was given yet another surprise when Grimmjow grabbed her best friend and proceeded to kiss him. It wasn't a chaste, quick peck on the mouth either. It was harsh and passionate, Ichigo submitting to the invasion of tongue for a few moments before turning the tides and shoving Grimmjow against a nearby stack of junk. It rocked precariously but remained standing.

Despite herself, Rukia couldn't help but think that it was just a little bit hot. Unexpected and damn surprising. But very, very hot.

She watched as they kissed like they didn't have an audience. Which really, they didn't because the junkyard was deserted except for Grimmjow. She heard noises from other workers, but they were on the far side and hidden by scraps of metal. No one was there to bear witness to their... _molesting_ of each other, for lack of a better word. And there Ichigo was, grinding against Grimmjow as if it was an everyday occurrence.

She never would have expected this.

Just when Rukia worried that they were going to go at it then and there, the two ended their violent kiss and broke apart. Grimmjow was grinning like a moron, while Ichigo scowled at the sight of his dropped briefcase, now splattered with mud.

"Let me clock out, and we can finish this elsewhere," Grimmjow stated with a leer, and he practically swaggered away, leaving Ichigo to reclaim his stuff from the ground.

"Yeah, whatever," Ichigo muttered, but there was a bit of a smile on his face. One Rukia was pretty sure she had never seen before.

She wasn't sure what to think about this. Ichigo and Grimmjow. Together. Like lovers. How had that happened? And when had Ichigo become – for lack of a better term – gay?

Man, Renji would blow a gasket as soon as he heard it. And Orihime would squeal with fangirliness. Rukia knew that the busty girl collected shounen-ai manga left and right.

Thoughtful, Rukia did her best to sneak away from the scrapyard without getting caught, her curiosity satisfied. It wasn't that difficult, and before long, she was back on the streets heading towards home.

Ichigo and Grimmjow. Together. It was like a broken record in the back of her mind. Who would have ever guessed?

* * *

a/n: Okay, so it just kinda ends. And who knows, I might write more in this AR universe. I'm not a big fan of them myself -- why ruin what's already good in unto itself -- but I might give this one a try. It'll be interesting to see where else I can place some of the characters. I used to not like this pairing, and it's been steadily growing on me. Le sigh.

Well, I like it anyways. Thanks for reading!


	133. For Solace

**Title: For Solace**

**Pairings: Chad/Ichigo, based on picture you can see on my homesite here (**http : // crya2evans . tripod . com / id690 . html)

**Rating: K+**

**Warnings: boyembraces, fluffy-fluff fluff**

**Words: 816**

**Description: For Ichigo, who has all his own strength, it is all that Chad can do for him. **

**Inspired by an absolutely gorgeous ChadIchi fanart; the title is borrowed from the lyrics to a song by Killswitch Engaged, "The End of Heartache" **

* * *

Chad found him standing at the riverbank, watching the sun setting with a beautiful array of oranges and reds on the horizon. Relatively still and silent itself, the river sluggishly rolled between its banks. Barely a splash echoed from the not-quite-pristine water. The slick grass didn't hamper him as he silently approached Ichigo, who didn't seem to realize that it was raining.

It was only a soft fall, more like a drizzle, and dampened his orange hair, flattening it against his head. But it wasn't enough to soak, just enough to add to the air of misery that surrounded Ichigo. His hands were in his pockets, but even Chad could see that they were clenched into fists.

Ichigo's back was the only thing visible to him, drawn tight and strong, defending from an invisible enemy. Trying to weather the storm – both inside and out – entirely on his own. He had always been like that, taking the weight onto his own shoulders even if it was too large a burden to bear on his own. He never asked for help.

Sometimes, Chad wished he would.

He didn't understand the significance of this day or this place. Chad hadn't asked, and Ichigo hadn't explained. He suspected that Arisawa knew, but Chad wasn't the sort to go digging around for answers. Ichigo would tell him when he was ready and not a moment before then.

Ichigo must have heard him coming. Chad was, by no means, a man who walked silently. His height and weight made that nearly impossible. As did the gravel on the roadway and the vegetation crunching beneath his shoes. Ichigo said nothing, however, and Chad took that as tacit permission for his presence. Perhaps even a silent request to remain.

The rain didn't bother him really. It was almost warm as it trickled onto his head and on his shoulders. It was such a solemn moment, a solemn place, and something about that strong and unbreakable back made Chad's heart ache. He really wished that Ichigo would learn to ask for help because sometimes sharing the pain made it easier to carry. If only for a little while.

He thought of his own strength and how he had vowed he would be the one at Ichigo's back with it. He thought of how much it was lacking compared to so many of the others and how he was always running to catch up. Ichigo would always be stronger than him in so many ways, and Chad wished often that he had the means to walk at his side a bit more. There was so much he was unable to do, he wondered if he were capable of anything at all anymore. If Ichigo even needed him.

Before his eyes, the sun dipped a bit lower, and with it, Ichigo's head. He drooped, gaze falling down at the river and the grass, shadows cast over it with oncoming night. His shoulders lost some of their rigidity, slumping visibly, shaking. Though Chad wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking.

He didn't know what caused such unbearable sadness in Ichigo's heart. And Chad doubted that he had the capabilities to heal it or soothe such a pain either. But perhaps... perhaps he could be a temporary salve. Perhaps his arms were useful for something other than defending and fighting and struggling to catch up.

Chad didn't say anything when he moved behind Ichigo and pulled the other teenager into his arms. Ichigo kept his own quiet as he allowed the motion, letting his sorrow be enveloped in a warm embrace. Chad's arms encompassed the shorter male, sheltering him from the light rain and from whatever else it was that hurt him inside rather than out.

He pretended not to notice when Ichigo's eyes shuttered closed and blamed the trickles down his friend's cheeks on the rain. He didn't say anything when the body in his arms shook.

There was so very little that Chad could do for Ichigo anymore, so this silent comfort was the best he had to offer. And he would keep the secret; he would never speak of Ichigo's moment of weakness to anyone. He would share this burden without an ulterior motive, hoping to ease the weight on Ichigo's shoulders.

And if it made him feel needed in the end… well, that was Chad's secret to hold. One entirely of his own.

* * *

AN: Written for myself because this pairing makes me squee and act like a girl in so many ways that I don't usually at all. Chad is such an awesome character, and I need to write him more because he just doesn't get enough credit. Not at all.

I hope you enjoyed it, too!


	134. Toy Soldiers

a/n: This one has a bit of a different pace, but I think you'll like it. Enjoy!

**Title: Toy Soldiers**

**Characters: Ichigo, Rukia, briefly mentioned others**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: implied character death, implied after-war fic**

**Words: 1343**

**Description: No one ever questioned. No one ever asked. No one ever wondered at the limits of a hero. **

**Inspired by a song of the same title sung by **_**Martika **_**(not the Eminem version). **

* * *

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

It never did in the manga anyway. Or in the movies. The video games. The good guys were supposed to win, and the bad guys were supposed to vow vengeance and more destruction. Everyone was supposed to be smiling in the end, and by some freak miracle, those dead weren't really gone or forgotten.

The hero never failed. His strikes always sailed true, and no matter how much he struggled, he emerged victorious. There was nothing to regret; there was nothing to mourn.

Fiction was so damn far from reality.

At least, that was the thought that crossed Ichigo's mind as he stood in the middle of a silent battlefield, quiet only because the sound of fighting had long since ceased. The evidence was still there. In the scent and the heaviness of the aura. Blood and pain and sulfur and smoke, ash clogging on his tongue and a tainted wind whipping at his clothes.

Somewhere, he could hear faint sounds. Whimpers of pain. The constant plip-plip of blood that was probably falling from his own katana, a steady dripping. The distant clang of other fights had gone quiet to Ichigo's ears.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

His hands felt heavy. Arms too heavy to lift himself. There was a far-flung clatter as his blade dropped to the ground, and he felt an urge to fall. The sun shone down, bright and cheerful. Wrong somehow. It should be raining. Thick and heavy, bitter-cold drops to cleanse away everything. To soak up the pain and flow one harsh memory into another.

Ichigo was falling apart. There were pieces of him, breaking down and sloughing to the ground. Crunched like shards of glass beneath someone's accidental footstep. He wondered why he wasn't satisfied with this so-called victory. Why it tasted so acrid on his heart. The enemy was vanquished, and yet, so much had been lost.

He felt them, sliding down his cheeks wet and warm. Slipping from eyes that stared and stared into an increasing darkness. Unable to tear his gaze away from the horrific truth. It was as if it were swallowing him whole.

His knees weakened, and Ichigo was certain he was going to fall. Hands fell across his shoulders tightly, squeezing and reminding him of their presence. There were voices, familiar ones, surrounding him. Worry emanating from them, but he was the one who suffered the brunt of the concern. He had to do it, to protect them.

Ichigo still thought he had to battle somewhere. That it wasn't over. It couldn't be that simple. He needed to pick up Zangetsu again. The threat was still there. Aizen was dead, and Ichimaru was dead, and Tousen was dead, but that wasn't enough. He had to train to get stronger because no matter how much he fought, it was never enough.

And Shirosaki was laughing. That bastard had his fun. He'd had his moments of freedom, his control over Ichigo.

Ichigo didn't know who – _what_ – he was anymore. He just knew what he had to do. Protect them. Protect her. Protect everyone. _Everything_. It wasn't enough. He wasn't satisfied.

Those fingers tightened, heedless – or perhaps because of – the violent trembling his body had taken. The scent and taste of blood was too familiar. He was used to it, the coppery flavor no longer surprising. Pain was a mere nuisance he'd learned to bear. Scrapes and scratches and gouges and slices and _holes_ in his flesh. He'd bore it all.

He had become that. The driving determination. The sharp blade. The soldier on the battlefield, rising again and again, even without bullets. Trudging forward through the bloody mire to face the opposition. No one would ever be safe if he didn't defeat the enemy wherever he could find it.

They didn't see the guilt that tried to consume him. How it crashed over his head at first and trickled over his ears, across his shoulders, down his back and further still, coating his entire body in a damning layer. He felt as if he were moving against a harsh wind, each step a drag through acrid emotion.

Heroes didn't regret the lives they took. Heroes celebrated victories.

Ichigo was supposed to be a hero in their eyes, even if he didn't want it. He was just protecting those that mattered to him. Protecting everyone. That was all he ever wanted. How had it turned into this?

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

The sob caught in his chest, a huge and gaping sensation, but it never made it past his lips again. The fierce hotness dried from his eyes. He couldn't afford it anymore. He simply slipped from those comforting fingers because they wouldn't understand anyway. And he scooped up Zangetsu, ignoring the slipperiness of the grip. Probably blood, he imagined. Or some other heart-breaking gore. His own sweat maybe.

He could smell it, taste it on his tongue. Ash and sorrow intermingling. But he couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. There was something else out there. Something or _someone_ else threatened them. He felt it in his bones. His fingers tightened around his zanpakutou's hilt. He had to train, to get stronger. Or they would never be safe.

Someone called his name, but Ichigo didn't even recognize who it could have been. In fact, there was a lot of shouting around him. He ignored it.

Ichigo started forward. He wasn't sure where he was going; he just knew he needed to get there. He didn't know _who_ he was fighting, but he was certain they'd show their face eventually.

He buried it all beneath the hurt and the memories and the teenager he once was. He was Ichigo now. Shinigami substitute. Vizard. Hollow when he lost control. A murderer, though it was covered up by the name of justice. What he was could no longer be again. And if he felt dead inside, he didn't know anyone else to blame but himself.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. "Ichigo!"

He turned and saw Rukia, recognizing her in an instant. "Yeah?"

Her blue eyes flickered over him, no doubt taking in the blood, sweat, and grime that caked his body. She looked little better than he did, if a bit more dressed.

"Where are you going?" Rukia looked worried; Ichigo wondered why.

"I'll stop them," he assured her and wondered why his smile made her face crinkle like that, becoming even more concerned. "Don't worry. I'll defeat them."

He eased out of her hold and slid Zangetsu into the bindings across his back, the weight settling comfortably. He was filthy, but he didn't need to be clean to fight. A few flits of shunpo, and he could be on his way.

Rukia didn't seem to understand this. "Fight who?" she asked, eyebrows drawn with confusion. And around them, some of the others stopped whatever they were doing and looked too. The geta-boushi. Renji. Ishida.

But no Chad. No Hanatarou.

That was Ichigo's fault, too. He had to make sure he didn't let it happen again.

"I'll stop them," was all Ichigo said again, voice little more than a whisper, hands clenching into fists at his side. Brown eyes were focused on the horizon, settling red like blood over the edge of the battlefield.

And then, he was gone, too fast for Rukia to follow. Too fast for anyone to realize there was a _need_ to follow. His single-minded determination led the way, driven by a desire to protect, to defeat. To find whoever threatened his loved ones and defeat them so that no one would ever cry again. So he wouldn't have to watch someone else he cared for slip away, and the tightness in his chest grew with every passing moment.

He thought he heard Zangetsu call to him, but then, even the ossan was silent.

He would protect them. Ichigo vowed this. Until the bitter end, he would be the blade.

* * *

a/n: Okay, it's depressing. But I like it. Fits in the same category as "Neat, Little Boxes" anyways. Sometimes, it's nice to have a serious piece. At any rate, keep an eye out. I should have a slew of filled requests coming up.

Thanks for reading!


	135. Rukia's Dating Service Kira Take Two

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Kira Izuru (Take Two)**

**Characters: Ichigo/Kira, the "thugs," Matsumoto, Rukia **

**Rating: T leaning towards M**

**Warning: boykisses, boymolesting, language, perverted jokes, overwhelming cuteness**

**Words: 5015**

**Description: Izuru smelled a plot, and it reminded him vaguely of lemons. **

* * *

"So we're in agreement, right?"

At her question, Yumichika and Rangiku nodded deviously, their eyes twinkling with the same evil gleam as Rukia's own.

Rangiku's mischievous grin widened. "Iba's easy to distract," she declared flippantly, reclining in her seat to the enjoyment of the other patrons of the bar that they had chosen as their meeting place. "Flash him a little breast, and he'll be out cold for hours."

Pleased, Rukia looked expectantly at Yumichika, interested in the fluttery fifth-seat's plan.

The man waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, trust me, I'll keep Ikkaku occupied."

"And how will you do that?" Rukia asked, interested despite herself.

Even Rangiku listened eagerly.

Yumichika laughed, fluttering his eyelashes with a coquettish look to the side. "I have my ways," he merely murmured.

And for a moment there, Rukia swore that little horns sprouted from the fifth-seat's forehead. Truly, he was a man to rival her own conniving abilities.

Beside Rukia, Shuuhei groaned and edged away from the trio of crazy people. "I don't want any part of this," he declared loudly, wondering if there was an escape. "You're the ones that dragged me here. Leave me out of it."

"But Shuu-chan!" Rangiku protested. "If you don't help us, then you'll ruin _everything_."

He held up his hands, a bit worried for the look on the faces of the three devious plotters. "I didn't say I was still going," he corrected quickly because vice-captain level or not, he was nothing against the plots of _those _three. "I'm just going to stay the hell out of your way and pretend I never had this conversation."

"Then it's settled!" Rukia announced, immensely pleased with herself. This was going to go so well.

"Not quite," Rangiku interrupted, and both she and Yumichika switched their intense gazes to the girl. "You haven't said what you're going to do about Renji."

Rukia waved that off. "Pssh, he's easy. We're childhood friends, remember? I know enough dirt to keep him under my thumb for _decades_." A sparkle of evilness illuminated her form as she chuckled, even scaring the perpetual schemers sitting before her.

For his part, Shuuhei felt an unmistakable stab of fear and prayed to kami that he never fell under Kuchiki's radar. He had the feeling he wouldn't survive it. He mentally apologized to his best friend, Kurosaki-kun, and Renji. Forgive him, but he was one man and nothing in the eyes of these _schemers. _

"Trust me," Rukia was saying as Shuuhei tried and failed to tune her out. "Those two will be heating the sheets in no time."

---

Izuru was just a bit nervous. Normally, he was mostly confident with himself and considered himself capable of handling any situation. But this... this right here was very different than assisting in the running of a division or fighting Hollows. And last time had been so disastrous, his cheeks burned at the mere remembrance of it. He really wanted to make it up to Kurosaki-kun.

Honestly, he had _cried_, and all because of a simple compliment. There was no getting over that sort of embarrassment. And then worse, all the people in the restaurant had looked at Kurosaki-kun as if he were to blame.

Kissing Kurosaki-kun had been an act of spontaneity, and Izuru was glad that he had. Just remembering it made something inside of him warm. Since that day, he had been able to find a strength he'd forgotten he'd once had.

Thus the reason he'd made these plans for tonight. To minimize the chance of failure, he made it a public affair, inviting a whole group of their mutual friends. Izuru figured he could cook dinner and prove to Kurosaki-kun that he wasn't just some crying freak. That he really had gotten over Ichimaru. They would spend some time together, get a little drunk, play some cards. It was a good, solid plan with only vague ulterior motives.

Except that no one was here yet.

Izuru twisted his jaw and glanced at the clock again. It still read twenty minutes past the time he had scheduled this dinner. And he knew those boys. They would never be late for free food. What was going on? The rice would be done any minute now, and Izuru hated food that sat too long.

He swore that if Abarai-kun was the reason they were late, he would make that tattooed bastard pay.

Someone knocked on the door, and Izuru nearly jumped out of his skin. A subtle scan with his reiatsu identified the visitor. Poor Kurosaki-kun still wasn't that adept at keeping his locked down, though he was improving. He was alone though, and that confused Izuru greatly. Where were the others? Hisagi-senpai and Abarai-kun and Iba-san and Yumichika-san and Ikkaku-san? They were all supposed to be here!

Another round of knocking moved Izuru from his contemplation, and he hurried to open the door before Kurosaki-kun grew exasperated and left. He resisted the urge to check his appearance one last time in the mirror. He would not fuss over himself like some anxious teenage girl from the living world!

The door swung open, revealing Kurosaki-kun on the doorstep, dressed as casually as anyone in Seireitei ever really got and looking a bit nervous. He lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

"Sorry, I'm late. I couldn't find it."

"I thought Abarai-kun was going to show you." Izuru was confused, as he was pretty sure he'd told several of those good-for-nothings to make sure that Kurosaki-kun could get here.

Kurosaki-kun scowled in shared annoyance, a look that promised dire retribution at a later time. "Yeah, well, he left a message. Something about Rukia and payback, and really, I didn't want to know."

Izuru smelled a trap. But he didn't blame Kurosaki-kun. Frankly, he wouldn't have wanted to ask either.

"Come on in," he said, moving aside so that Kurosaki-kun could enter. "The others haven't come yet either."

"And here I thought I was late," Kurosaki-kun muttered, though he stepped inside with hands fidgeting at his sides. His eyes immediately tracked around, taking in the décor of Izuru's home as his host closed the door behind him.

"I haven't finished cooking yet," Izuru explained and gestured ahead of him to the main room that sprawled out in front of them.

It was little more than a sofa perched behind a low table with a decently-sized television on the other side, DVD player attached. Both electronic items had been a combined birthday gift from Abarai-kun and the others with the redhead the main instigator of said item having thoroughly enjoyed their presence in the living world. Though how they managed to work in Soul Society was a mystery to Izuru. Not that he bothered to ask.

"I was waiting for everyone to arrive."

Kurosaki-kun nodded and glanced around. "I could help."

Unfortunately, that would defeat the purpose of the dinner being an apology.

Still, Izuru was intrigued by the offer. "You can cook?"

A hint of a blush tainted Kurosaki-kun's cheeks as he scratched at his chin. "I can boil rice," he offered. "And a few other things."

Izuru laughed. "It's a start," he said with a chuckle. "But I'm almost done. Just waiting on the others before I mix up the sauces and stuff. We can just wait until they get here."

"Whenever that is," Kurosaki-kun muttered and plopped down on the couch, leaving enough room for Izuru to sit on the other side of him.

He took a deep breath and did just that. This was his opportunity, after all, to make up for the disastrous date between them last time. It was a little too quiet in the room, so Izuru clicked on a movie, though he kept the volume soft on purpose. Sometimes, it was nice just to talk, and really, it was best to start out with the main reason he had invited Kurosaki-kun – and everyone else by proxy – here this evening.

"I am glad you came," Izuru started, hoping it didn't come out as hesitant as it felt. This was just a bit embarrassing. "I wanted to apologize."

Kurosaki-kun blinked at him, obviously confused. "For what?"

The blond winced, wondering if Kurosaki-kun had really forgotten or if he truly didn't think there was a reason for Izuru to apologize. "For what happened last time."

He waited a few minutes for the words to sink in. And he knew when Kurosaki-kun realized what Izuru meant because he too winced and seemed self-conscious himself.

"That doesn't usually happen," Izuru continued, almost desperate to reassure Kurosaki-kun that he wasn't just some weak creature who cried at the drop of a subtle compliment. "I was... in a rough place."

"It's not your fault. It's Rukia's," Kurosaki-kun was quick to reassure, a scowl darkening his expression at the sound of his friend's name. "She should have known better."

"Even so, I wanted to apologize."

Thus, the dinner this evening. Though it was going to be ruined if those other boys didn't show up soon enough.

Kurosaki-kun nodded in understanding, and quiet settled between them. He watched as the teenager fidgeted and then glanced at Izuru from the corner of his eyes.

"Ermmm. I know it's not any of my business, but... were you and Ichimaru... you know?"

The hesitant question was accompanied by a vague hand gesture that Izuru didn't require a translator to understand even if he had never seen it before. He felt himself flush, only because it was a rumor he had heard several times over. Even though it wasn't true at all – not even remotely – he was mortified that it had gotten all the way to Kurosaki-kun, enough that he would think to question it. Though Izuru supposed he couldn't blame the gossip mill. From an outsider's point of view, the relationship between he and his former captain might have seemed like that.

"No," he stated, shaking his head as a note of fondness entered his tone. He didn't hate his ex-captain. He couldn't. Though he was largely disappointed. "It wasn't like that. Ichimaru-taichou believed in me. And that was really all that mattered."

"Oh."

Izuru wasn't sure how to interpret that, so he let it slide, eyes shifting around as he continued. Finding it strangely easy to talk to Kurosaki-kun.

"My parents died early on," he explained softly, "and there were a lot of expectations. It was... _heavy_. And when faced with so much talent at the Academy, I often thought that I didn't belong. Ichimaru-taichou was the first one to look at me as someone worthwhile."

"I think I can understand that," Kurosaki-kun commented, shifting on the sofa and getting a strange gleam in his eyes. "My mom died when I was just a kid, and people poked at me because of my hair, not that I can really do anything about that. I never really fit in either."

"And your father?"

To Izuru's amusement, Kurosaki-kun made a horrified face. "Sometimes, I wish that old Goat-Face were dead."

Izuru's jaw dropped as he swiveled his head to give Kurosaki-kun a surprised stare, unsure what to say in response to that sort of thing. It didn't sound like Kurosaki-kun hated his father, but one could tell he wasn't exactly thrilled either.

"Ummm."

"Look. You have to know Isshin to understand," Kurosaki-kun was quick to explain, turning to face Izuru and lifting one hand. "Take a drunk Renji," he went on, wriggling said hand for emphasis, "And smash him into a Yachiru-chewed Ikkaku--" He lifted another hand. "--stir in that Iba guy as he is--" Both hands came together. "--and throw in Hisagi-san having a freak-out over the newspaper, and you've scratched the icing on the cake of what's wrong with my father. And Rangiku-san at her friendliest doesn't hold a candle to the affections my father thinks everyone needs to experience."

The earnest annoyance in Kurosaki-kun's face was almost comical. Izuru could only blink at that rather detailed explanation.

"I think I understand."

The blond thought of all of his friends who really were too much to handle at once. The only other person he had been able to commiserate about them with had recently been confined to the fourth division for the deterioration of her mental state. So he was left to suffer their stupidity alone.

"Yeah, your friends are pretty crazy," Kurosaki-kun agreed, sharing a friendship with said mindless delinquents himself. "But then, you don't really have to deal with Rukia."

Izuru felt his lips twitch. "Kuchiki-san is... _nice_," he said, purposefully forcing himself to forget her powers of persuasion when it came to the _dates_.

"Yeah, if you think crocodiles make great pets," Kurosaki-kun retorted with a roll of his eyes.

Izuru outright laughed, an image forming in the back of his mind. "But she's working so hard for you."

Kurosaki-kun snorted, losing some of his polite restraint as an odd look crossed his face. "Fifteen dates later and so far she has managed to get Renji stuck in his gigai, Ikkaku and me arrested, set me up with my dad's new boyfriend." That was accompanied by a shudder. "Then, I was assaulted by a drunk wearing a pink haori--"

"Kyouraku-taichou?" Izuru inserted, hazarding a guess. But then, the other half of Kurosaki-kun's description filtered through his brain. "Wait... He assaulted you?"

"Long story. Don't ask," Kurosaki-kun insisted. "Seriously, just don't." He paused to think, as though desperately trying not to recall each and every horrifying encounter his supposed friend had pushed on him. "Yumichika-san was tolerable at least. And she sent me on a play date with Kenpachi. I found out Toushirou loves pinball, and that everyone is conspiring against Uki-- Jyuushiro."

Izuru lifted a brow. "Conspiring?" He couldn't help but laugh again at Kurosaki-kun's frank assessment of all his dating nightmares. "How so?"

"Again with the long story. All I know is that it involves his third-seats, Rukia, and cooking." Kurosaki-kun shook his head, leaning back as he continued, ticking off encounters on his fingers. "Iba broke my nose, among other things. Hisagi-san and I stared at each other for fifteen minutes, and Byakuya was clearly threatened and told to kiss me or else. To top it all off, she set me up with our mortal enemy, though don't ask me how she managed that!"

Izuru hazarded a guess, a silly grin splitting his face. "Kurotsuchi-taichou?"

"Only slightly better. Aizen!"

Practically red with mirth, Izuru tried to contain himself. "But at least you got to know the Shinigami better, ne?" he inserted, thinking to hope that there was something salvageable in the situation.

"True," Kurosaki-kun admitted. "I found out that Hanatarou was still in love with his dead wife. Huh. He and Byakuya have something in common. Didn't realize that until now." He pondered.

Izuru practically radiated amusement as he gazed at the teenager, only to notice that Kurosaki-kun had left him out of that list. "And me, Kurosaki-kun?"

"That was pretty good," Kurosaki-kun answered after a moment of pause. "Until um... the end there. When I sorta said the wrong thing."

The blond winced, feeling heat steal into his cheeks. Yeah, that had been mortifying.

"I promise not to cry this time, Kurosaki-kun," he said. "Or really ever again if I can help it." And he looked down, fingers cautiously seeking out the hand which seemed so casually near to his.

"You can call me Ichigo." Kurosak-- Ichigo lifted his fingers, as though embarrassed by the offer. "Everyone else does."

"Well, you already call me Izuru," the blond replied then, tilting his head and just smiling invitingly. Almost beckoning. "I don't know what else to offer you--"

Ichigo kissed him. Was kissing him. And Izuru eagerly responded to the almost hesitant and slightly clumsy brush of their lips, finding that Ichigo tasted like something citrus. Oranges or tangerines, as though he had been eating one or the other recently. The scent seemed to surround him.

Izuru wanted to linger in it.

But the kiss was as brief as it was surprising, leaving Izuru gaping and hungering for more. He looked at Ichigo, a sense of wonder banking behind his eyes.

"That was..." But words failed him.

"Me being assertive," Ichigo said and eyed him warily. "Should I not have or--"

Izuru kissed him, if that was what he would call the attack of lips and tongue. There was a moment of stunned surprise before Ichigo returned the kiss, not even fighting off Izuru's hands as they crept forward of their own accord, one splaying across Ichigo's belly. The other curled around his hip, dragging him closer.

A low sound echoed in Ichigo's throat, one that sounded like restraint snapping as he deepened their exchange, their tongues tangling. Heat crackled down Izuru's spine, Ichigo's rapid-fire breathing loud to his ears. His hands wandered without further thought, palms hot against Ichigo's bare skin and traveling upwards.

He leaned forwards, and then, Ichigo fell backwards with an abrupt sound of surprise, Izuru landing atop him. He sprawled across the teen's equally sprawled body, legs entangled. And while the abrupt change in angle surprised them both, it didn't seem to do anything for the pacing.

Izuru couldn't get enough, his lips dragging from Ichigo's mouth to pepper kisses along his strong jaw line. He felt hands settle on his back, rubbing across cloth before traveling further, squeezing his ass and grinding their bodies together. Izuru gasped, his body working a ragged rhythm.

Things blurred, lost to heat and touch and hands and clothes rapidly disappearing under fumbling, unskilled but no less determined fingers. Izuru licked long paths across inches of bared bronzed skin, and his heart stuttered at every twitch of the body beneath his. Ichigo groaned, his hands roaming. Raking through blond hair. Skittering down a back and spine. Knee rising to rub against a groin.

Izuru's own hands wandered, one working its way under the hem of Ichigo's hakama and the other clenched into the sofa for balance. He mouthed at a bare collarbone, for some reason fascinated by the outline of it beneath Ichigo's skin. A low moan echoed in his ear, oh-so-enticing, and Izuru forgot all the reasons this might be a not-yet-good-idea.

His fingers encountered the hard and heavy weight of Ichigo's arousal, further proof that this wasn't one-sided. And at his first touch, he was treated to the sound of Ichigo's throaty and pleased groan. Hips bucked into the hesitant rhythm, and Izuru swallowed thickly, heat flushing throughout.

"Ichigo," Izuru breathed, desperately searching for the right words to make this okay and not a serious mistake on his part. "Can I...?"

"Don't stop," Ichigo moaned. "I swear I'll hurt something if you stop."

Well, okay then. That was pretty much all the permission Izuru needed right there.

'_Itadakimasu_,' he couldn't help but think lecherously and lowered his lips to a nipple that had been begging for attention.

A series of startled gasps along with the sound of Izuru's front door opening cut through the frantic push of desire like a zanpakutou cleaving a Hollow's mask. Izuru broke away, hand still down Ichigo's hakama, to see their five friends standing in the doorway. Completely and mortifyingly frozen in place.

A few seconds of stunned surprise passed where the seven men stared at each other. But finally, Izuru cleared his throat and pointedly licked his lips.

"You're late," he commented because that was honestly all he could think to say.

Beneath him, Ichigo blushed profusely and didn't dare move a muscle. Frankly, Izuru didn't want to move either as it would reveal certain things that should for the moment remain hidden.

Abarai-kun was the first to break the silence, strolling in with an aplomb that only the drunk or immensely stupid could pull off. Fortunately for him, it appeared he suffered from both.

"Sorry 'bout that," he slurred, perhaps referring to being late. "So what's fer dinner?" he asked and then promptly wandered into the kitchen.

They stared at each other a bit more, Yumichika-san wearing a rather astonished expression and Iba-san gaping with his mouth open. Hisagi-senpai had covered his eyes, mumbling something under his breath, while Ikkaku-san was dumbfounded.

Abarai-kun stumbled back into the living room, a piece of white fabric dangling from his fingers. "Someone missin' a sock?" he questioned.

A slight twitter echoed through the room, though the immediate perpetrator was unknown. Izuru looked down and realized that Ichigo was indeed absent a single tabi. Toes wiggled in the heated air.

Ichigo flushed to the roots of his orange hair, stumbling around for an explanation that sounded convincing. "He was... uh... We were… er… He was…"

Words escaped him.

"... teaching him some hakudo techniques," Izuru supplied finally, though he didn't think even Iba-san would believe them, despite the fact that he was as perceptive as the burnt side of toast.

"What? Pinning moves?" Ikkaku demanded, clearly not thinking about his own words.

As one, Hisagi-senpai, Iba-san, and Yumichika-san all turned to stare at the bald man. Who cringed when he realized how his statement could have been taken.

He rubbed a hand over his head. "Uh, I mean... How to turn on your opponent… Arg! How to beat them off?" He paused and smacked himself in the face. "I mean... Aw... fuck!"

"Guys, we should leave," Hisagi-senpai insisted then, one hand still carefully shielding his eyes.

Indeed, none of them had moved from the doorway. Except Abarai-kun who had gone back into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious.

Yumichika-san laughed or perhaps it would have been more appropriate to describe that sound as a giggle. "I see you started without us. Though one usually saves that for dessert."

"We're obviously interrupting," his senpai announced in the background. "So let's just be going."

"Some cocking techniques... I mean, blocking techniques!" Ikkaku-san added, clamping his mouth shut. "Dammit, I'm just going to stop talkin' now."

Abarai-kun reappeared in the living room, a sake bottle pilfered from the kitchen in one hand. He invited himself to the open end of the couch, plopping down without a care and uncorking the jug. He took a deep swig and then seemed to notice that he was sharing space with two other very embarrassed residents.

"Oh, didja want some?" the redhead asked, gesturing the bottle towards Izuru. He then seemed to notice the lack of available hands. "Never mind. Ya look like yer hands're full."

Somewhere, someone snorted. Izuru suspected Yumichika-san. And this had long passed the moments of awkwardness and heading into territories rich with humiliation. This was downright mortifying. Why hadn't they left yet?

"Ichigo?" Abarai-kun pushed and tried to offer it to him, too. Though it wavered midair, the vice-captain's coordination ruined by his inebriation.

Ichigo scowled, likely wishing he could crawl into a hole and never come out. Preferable a deep one on the other side of Hueco Mundo.

"I'm too young to drink, dumbass," the teen muttered in an obvious denial.

Abarai-kun shrugged. "Suit yourself." And chugged down half of Izuru's really good, really expensive sake. That had been a gift from Aizen-taichou last winter.

Come to think of it, Abarai-kun could have the whole bottle.

"Too young to drink but not to-- Ack!" A sound of pain emerged from Ikkaku-san as Hisagi-senpai nonchalantly elbowed him in the ribs.

"Let's go. Come on, Ikkaku," his senpai insisted, still trying to encourage his idiotic friends to accompany him out the door.

Ikkaku-san shook his head and glanced away. "They're trying to," he muttered.

Yumichika-san spluttered before abruptly covering his mouth. Iba-san made a sound not unlike the eleventh division when faced with Unohana-taichou.

Abarai-kun just sniffed and peered around. "I smell something fruity."

Hisagi-san groaned, slapping his hand over his entire face and wishing he could sink through the floor. And Izuru's living room degenerated further into madness with Yumichika-san unable to conceal his mirth. The man suddenly letting out a shriek of laughter that echoed across the walls.

"Okay, you've made your jokes," Izuru announced with more strength in his voice than he thought he held. "Time to leave."

"I agree!" Hisagi-senpai insisted, tone approaching a high pitch that didn't suit him at all. He crossed the room in a quick, purposeful stride. "But don't worry! This never happened. At all. I didn't see anything, I swear. Nothing at all. Nothing to see here, folks."

Izuru watched as he grabbed Abarai-kun by the ear and hauled him up with an indignant squawk on the redhead's part. Iba-san had already escaped, having never regained his composure, and fled into the night.

His senpai pushed Abarai-kun ahead of him. The latter just stumbled towards the front door in a very incoherent fashion.

"I told Kuchiki this would happen," Hisagi-senpai mumbled just loud enough for Izuru to hear as he started herding everyone else to the exit.

"Why're we goin'?" Abarai-kun mumbled, clutching his sake protectively and glaring at Ikkaku as though he were going to make a grab for it. "We jus' got 'ere."

"Ahh, Shuu-chan! I want to watch!" Yumichika-san complained. "Just for a--"

Thankfully, the door closed shut on the rest of his words, leaving the room in complete silence.

Izuru turned his head, looking at an equally embarrassed Ichigo. Sure that the same mortification echoed on his face. Only then did he draw back, removing his hands from Ichigo's hakama and giving him some space.

"Umm... I should probably go," the teen said then, clearing his throat as he tugged self-consciously at the hem of his pants. His eyes tracked around and looked for lost articles of clothing.

Izuru himself wondered where his shitagi had gone. "Sorry," he replied, feeling like all he had done tonight was apologize to Ichigo. "I didn't know that would happen."

In all honesty, he should have realized it since they were waiting for the others to arrive. Though he had believed they would at least knock rather than barge into his house like that. And Abarai-kun! Just how drunk was he?

Ichigo winced, pulling on his top. "I don't think anyone could have expected that," he responded and glanced around pointedly. "Man, what did Renji do with my sock?"

And really, that did it right there. Izuru was trying to hold onto his composure in the wake of that debacle, but watching Ichigo stand there, missing a tabi and looking quite perplexed, just sort of shattered his resolve. He chuckled, hand rising to cover his mouth but failing to conceal the sound of his laughter.

Brown eyes turned to him in confusion. "Izuru?"

"I'm sorry." Izuru snickered again, holding his belly as the laughter pulled at his stomach muscles. "It's just... the look on their faces." He shook his head, unable to put it into words.

He watched as Ichigo appeared to consider it before chuckling as well, dragging the rest of his missing clothing to his side. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"Oh?"

"It could have been my dad. Or the geta-boushi." He shuddered at the thought of either.

And though Izuru wasn't too familiar with them, he had the feeling that it wouldn't be a comfortable situation. At all. Rather like being caught by the captain-commander.

"Or Kuchiki-san," he added by way of suggestion.

Ichigo made a disgusted face. "The horror!"

The two shared another laugh, one that seemed to chase away all the awkwardness that the interruption had gathered. Izuru situated the last of his clothes, watching as Ichigo did the same.

"But... it was fun," Izuru commented almost wistfully and followed as Ichigo wandered towards the door and his waraji by proxy.

A thoughtful expression crossed the substitute Shinigami's face. "Yeah, it was," he agreed.

And looking up at Izuru, their eyes briefly met. It sent a tingle of interest down Izuru's spine. Reminding him that moments before, they'd been in the middle of something very hot and heavy.

"Are you heading back to the living world, or do you have somewhere you plan on staying?" Izuru asked, having some sort of idea in the back of his mind of walking Ichigo somewhere. Prolonging the night as long as possible, he supposed.

Ichigo shrugged, hands tucked into his sleeves. "Rukia offered the Kuchiki manor, but..." he trailed off and made a face. Imagining all of horrendous things she could do to him there. Especially with Byakuya such a close and tempting secondary target.

"You fear for your virtue?" Izuru suggested teasingly.

"Yeah, something like that." Ichigo shrugged again, tilting his head back and peering up at the night sky, the moon gleaming white above them. "So I'll just head home. Safer that way."

Izuru chuckled, rather enjoying Ichigo's expression in profile. "You're probably right," he said and took a breath and a chance, reaching for Ichigo's fingers with his own.

Relief rattled through him as Ichigo accepted the hesitant touch and turned to look at him. They weren't so far apart now, just a scant few inches, and Izuru rather liked that closeness.

"You're welcome to come back anytime," the blond murmured, his thumb rubbing across Ichigo's hand.

"Yeah?" A faint blush tinted the teen's cheeks, but he didn't look away. "I might just do that."

Izuru couldn't help it. He stole another kiss, that same distinct flavor of citrus washing over and through him. He enjoyed the way Ichigo's lips felt against his, and a stirring of want rushed through him. It would be so easy to ask for more, so easy to lead Ichigo back inside and to his bedroom. To pull him down on the futon and set his hands wandering again.

Only… Only, Izuru didn't because it wasn't the best thing for them to rush headfirst into such a relationship.

So he ended the kiss, a stupidly goofy grin on his face. "Make sure you do," he murmured and hoped it didn't come out all girly-breathless like it sounded.

Ichigo squeezed his fingers, and the smile on his face was really worth all the embarrassment Izuru had just suffered. He watched as Ichigo drew away, heading for the gate a short distance from there.

And Izuru couldn't help but think that it had been a great night. Perfect for starting over.

* * *

a/n: No, my dearies, that's not the end of the Rukia's Dating Service series. There are other still vying for Ichigo's attention, though I won't spoil you with the knowledge of who's coming back for more.

I still haven't decided who will be the lucky man in the end. I suppose only the story will tell.

I hope you enjoyed! See you next week!


	136. Compensation Required

**Title: Compensation Required**

**Characters: Gin/Grimmjow, Aizen **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, language, much molesting**

**Words: 1029**

**Description: "Please don't molest my subordinates in the hallway." **

**Dedication: To InfernumEquinonum, who requested a Gin/Grimmjow somehow involving death threats and puppies. This is the crack that emerged.  
**

* * *

"You kicked Freckles."

Grimmjow blinked. "I... What?"

And then, he backed up against a wall because suddenly, Ichimaru was there, crowding against him. That freaky-ass smile on his face. What the hell was a Freckles?

"My puppy," Ichimaru answered, and his grin widened as he leaned closer, arms trapping Grimmjow in place. "Ya kicked my dog, Grim-chan."

On second thought, Grimmjow did remember kicking a furry creature from one side of Las Noches to the other. The damn thing wouldn't stop barking at him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand straight. And when it barked, Grimmjow hissed, and Ulquiorra – who happened to be passing by – smirked in his usual expressionless way. Which made Grimmjow furious all over again.

And then, the damn thing had the gall to piss on him. That was when Grimmjow had kicked it. And he'd laughed like hell when it sailed far, far away. Out to the white of the desert and the cold, and he supposed that he'd never stopped to think that it might have belonged to someone. He had simply seen the small, furry nuisance and acted accordingly.

"Err... that was yours?" Grimmjow replied and suddenly could smell the faintest scent of strawberries and tea.

He felt a little meek, this close to Ichimaru. Aizen was a badass. Insanely powerful and his kind smile was enough to send shivers down Grimmjow's spine. But there was something unpredictable about Ichimaru that made Grimmjow fear him just a bit more. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud. Aizen was strong, but Ichimaru was creepy. Thus, the reason Grimmjow usually avoided the silver-haired freak.

A hand lifted to his chin. Grimmjow grimaced away from it, though Ichimaru's hold prevented him from going anywhere.

"Sya-chan says it'll take weeks for poor Freckles' leg to heal," Ichimaru crooned at him, and there was an edge of something to his voice that didn't bode well for Grimmjow's safety. "I demand compensation."

"It was the dog's fault," the Espada protested, squirming uncomfortably as Ichimaru pressed against him, all hard lines and angles. "It shouldn't have pissed on me."

Ichimaru chuckled, and for some reason, it was a terrifying sound. "What 'm I gonna do without my pet, Grim-chan? It's yer fault he's all broken."

A small bead of sweat gathered on Grimmjow's brow because there was the tiniest trickle of reiatsu against his skin. And while Aizen's was debilitating, rattling his legs and limbs, Ichimaru's was breath-taking like sharp stabs against his skin. It held just a hint of malice, both promised and given.

Grimmjow swallowed thickly, belligerent response dying on his lips. He hated that he was weak enough that Ichimaru intimidated him. In fact, he really hated this former Shinigami. Aizen, he could at least grudgingly respect to a degree. Ichimaru just creeped him out.

"I'll get you another one," he said instead because it was as close to an apology as he could get. Even for someone like Ichimaru who could probably break him with a twitch of one finger.

"I don't want 'nother," the man replied, this time with a purr. His fingers tightened on Grimmjow's chin. "But I think I've found a temporary replacement. Ne, Grim-chan?"

His brow furrowed. "What are ya talkin' ab--"

Ichimaru kissed him. _Was_ kissing him. Ichimaru was kissing him with tongue and everything. All sinuous and snaking into his mouth as though it belonged there, and strangely enough, his faint scent matched the taste of his lips. And then, Ichimaru was grinding against him, a knee pushed against Grimmjow's groin. Which – embarrassingly enough – was responding to the man's embrace. It _had_ been a while for him, after all. A natural bodily reaction.

Worse was the moan of interest that began in Grimmjow's chest, rumbled through his throat, and rattled along Ichimaru's tongue. Which was _still in his mouth_. Ichimaru's hand was slowly creeping its way down Grimmjow's chest and the hem of his hakama. And the embarrassing sounds working through Grimmjow's body as his hips pushed _towards _those sneaky, pale fingers.

Then, someone cleared their throat.

Ichimaru took his time in ending the kiss, leaving a dazed Grimmjow pinned against the wall. That didn't stop him from turning his head and spying his most favorite person standing there, completely bemused.

"I gave you private quarters for a reason, Gin," Aizen stated, eyes flickering to the Espada for an instant before returning to his heir. "Please don't molest my subordinates in the hallway."

"Sorry, Aizen-taichou," Ichimaru chirped cheerfully. "I was just teachin' Grim-chan here a little lesson 'bout private property."

Aizen's lips quirked. And the amusement made Grimmjow both mortified and pissed off.

"So I see. I'm sure Grimmjow requires much teaching."

And well, coming from Aizen that was pretty much permission for Ichimaru to do whatever he wished. Not that he wasn't going to do it anyway. And Grimmjow thought that he should protest or something because this was his virtue they were so blandly discussing here with their double-meanings and such. He had every intention to do so, too. Just as soon as his legs stepped doing that rather girly shaking thing. Well, and Ichimaru stopped rubbing his palm over his groin. That was a little distracting.

"Carry on then," Aizen said, and Grimmjow belatedly realized that he had missed part of their conversation in the midst of trying to decide whether he enjoyed Ichimaru's touch or should attempt to flee for his life.

"Thanks, Aizen-taichou!" Ichimaru waved to the leader of Hueco Mundo, and for a minute there, Grimmjow swore that he saw sparkling hearts floating around the weirdo's face.

Ichimaru's attention reverted back to Grimmjow then, and there was something predatory about it. Hungry almost.

"Shall we?"

"Shall we what?" Grimmjow was almost afraid to ask.

But then, he moaned under his breath. Freak or not, Ichimaru's hands were really talented.

"Back to my room," Ichimaru murmured, and with a rather skillful maneuver, he dragged the Arrancar along with him. "Compensation, 'member?"

And try as he might and with heat running through his veins, Grimmjow couldn't remember why he was supposed to protest.

* * *

a/n: The moment I got this idea, it just sorta flowed out of me. Gin is so much fun to write, and so is a flustered Grimmjow. I may have to write more. Perhaps. I hope you enjoyed! Much more requests to come!


	137. Lovers and Liars

**Title: Lovers and Liars**

**Characters: Ichigo, Komamura**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Slight OOC and crack? Spoilers about Isshin's background**

**Words: 1364**

**Description: Ichigo hadn't realized that he preferred this. A quiet understanding that didn't assume and didn't patronize.**

**Dedication: For **_**Kisuke-san**_**, who wanted a Komamura/Ichigo. I don't think I managed the pairing part.**

* * *

For Ichigo, what the Shinigami suffered after Aizen's abandonment was somewhat removed from him. He didn't know the traitors personally, didn't have a relationship with them. So he couldn't feel the same distress that his newfound friends did. While he harbored some anger for the way they had treated Rukia, it didn't quite affect him.

Now, however, he thought he could understand what they were going through. There was nothing so painful as having someone close to you lie to your face. Especially for reasons that couldn't be understood, that lacked explanation.

It was why he sat here, in Soul Society rather than in Karakura, where that man could easily find him. Urahara had given him the means to escape to Soul Society, knowing that if he didn't, the anger would be transferred to him as well. He supposed part of it was the geta-boushi's fault because he had known and said nothing. But then, kami only knew what Isshin had demanded of his friend. It was a matter between father and son.

That didn't make him pissed off at his father any less. And he'd be happy if he didn't have to see the liar for a few days. A week even. Possibly more. If he had to look at that man, he would strangle him. Yeah, so maybe he was acting like an immature brat, but someone should have mentioned that to Isshin when he thought it was better to hide potentially stress-easing information rather than reveal it when his son needed to it the most.

No, instead Ichigo had to hear it from Soifon of all people. Fucking Soifon! Not his father. No, never him. Not his own flesh and blood father but someone else. And it burned; it stung like betrayal. To know for all those years when he felt strange and out of sorts for seeing spirits that Isshin was only stringing him along.

There were footsteps on the ground behind him. Someone who obviously couldn't read the "keep the fuck away" vibes he was giving off in droves. He thought he'd made it pretty clear that he didn't want to talk to anyone. If it was Rukia, he was going to hurt her. Like seriously.

"It is a pain like none other," a voice rumbled behind him in the same moment that a shadow cast over him.

Ichigo turned and found, of all people, Komamura Sajin standing there, lupine eyes filled with a kind sort of understanding and empathy. While Ichigo hadn't expressed the reason behind his sudden desire to visit Soul Society, he had the feeling that somehow, the seventh division captain knew. As if there were something tangible in Ichigo's reiatsu that expressed his bitterness.

"And words are useless," Komamura added, tone taking on that of remembered heartache.

Ichigo gestured with his head towards the empty space beside him, the other captain too polite to take it without invitation. "You can sit if you want." He had to give the Shinigami credit for braving the dark vibes Ichigo radiated.

Komamura inclined his head and accepted the offer, lowering his bulk with a grace Ichigo wouldn't have expected of the rather large... fox? He suddenly remembered that if there was one person who understood where Ichigo was coming from, it would be Komamura. Whose closest friend had lied to him for the entire time they'd known each other.

Oh, sure crazy Hinamori could get it, but she was a nutcase, and Ichigo suspected that the relationship between Kira-san and Ichimaru was more than he could comprehend. That Hisagi guy had admired his captain, and that was about it. But Komamura was different. Tousen had not only been his friend but more like family. The only one who had seen him for a person and not for a thing. Such treachery must have struck just as deeply.

"I'm sure you heard it all before," Komamura began, gaze following the same direction as Ichigo's. The far away horizon where the sun gradually dipped behind a distant mountain range. "'_There's a reason. You can't have known. It'll be alright._'"

Ichigo could tell those were direct quotes.

He snorted. "That last one is the biggest load of shit I've ever heard."

"Yes, it really does not help," Komamura agreed but said nothing else.

And they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes more. Ichigo considered Komamura's story. He thought it only fair to share his own.

Balancing his arms on his drawn out knees, Ichigo frowned deeply. "Did you know a Shinigami by the name of Tsurugi Isshin?"

The captain appeared to consider before he shook his head. "Not that I can recall. It sounds familiar, but then, I have not been around as long as some of the others. Perhaps Ukitake-san or Kyouraku would know."

"Oh, they do," Ichigo answered, and there was bitterness in his voice. "They knew because he's my father."

"Ah." And there was a great bit of understanding in that single word as many things clicked into place for Komamura. "I take it you did not know he was a Shinigami."

Ichigo remained silent, and that in itself was answer enough. He supposed that comparing his father's inability to speak the truth to Tousen's deliberate betrayal was a little harsh. He was sure many would see it that way. But they didn't know the emotional turmoil he had suffered.

They didn't know how much Ichigo had blamed himself for his mother's death, unable to understand what had happened, unable to understand the existence of Hollows. They hadn't had their father lie every time about being unable to see ghosts. They hadn't struggled with their Shinigami abilities, uncertain how to handle the changes to his life with literally no one to turn to but the somewhat perverted shopkeeper and an elusive female Shinigami. Neither of whom were there half the time. They hadn't been forced to fight their inner Hollow for dominance.

All this time, Isshin had known what he was, had known what his son had the potential to become. He had to have known what was happening, and he'd obviously known what had really killed Ichigo's mother. And yet, he'd said _nothing_. He'd kept his fake ignorance and his truth to himself, hoarding inside. He hadn't bothered to share any of his valuable insight with his son. His own fucking son!

He wondered if his father had watched him flounder with amusement. Surely, he must have since he hadn't bothered to offer a single iota of help. And all that crap about training was complete bullshit. Ichigo didn't want wake-up-kicks. He wanted answers and maybe just a little support. For once in his life.

Ichigo didn't realize that he was trembling until the rather massive hand – paw? – settled on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. He drew in a breath, shaky and ragged, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the emotions running their frantic pace inside of him.

Komamura didn't say anything, but that was okay because Ichigo didn't want to hear any words. His emotions were such a torn mix of anger and betrayal and sorrow that he really didn't know what he was feeling. He didn't want to be reassured or given advice. He preferred this. A quiet understanding that didn't assume and didn't patronize.

"Did he have a reason?" Komamura finally asked once Ichigo's breathing had calmed to a less homicidal pace.

"I didn't ask."

"Why?"

"Because no matter what it was, I wouldn't accept it."

Komamura made a sound that was more like a rumble in his chest, possibly a noise of assent. "I want someday to ask Tousen why myself."

"Would you accept it?"

There was a pause. "I suppose that I will not know until I hear it."

Ichigo huffed, but it wasn't in annoyance. He pondered his own circumstances. Komamura's hand still hadn't left his shoulder, but Ichigo found he didn't mind too much. In fact, he was growing rather used to that comfortable weight.

"Maybe," he conceded to the unspoken request. "When I stop wanting to punch him when I see his face, I'll actually ask."

The captain inclined his head in understanding, and they shared the rest of the sunset in quiet agreement. Just like that, his anger was gone. Dissipated into the descending evening. And when Ichigo quietly thanked Komamura with burning cheeks, he was treated to a very rare sight.

A smile.

* * *

a/n: Admittedly, there isn't much pairing in here. But Komamura is really hard for me to write. He's too... calm, for lack of a better word. He's too solid, I guess. I don't know. Perhaps I'll give it a try again in the future.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


	138. Everyday Heroes

**Title: Everyday Heroes**

**Characters: Isshin**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: light spoilers for Isshin's background**

**Words: 415**

**Description: Whatever the reasons were, this was something Isshin should have done a lot sooner. **

**Dedication: To **_**Elora**_**, who wanted to see Isshin coming to the rescue. **

* * *

He really should have done this sooner.

Time and time again, Isshin had asked himself why. And he'd never had an answer. Maybe he was scared of being hated. Maybe he didn't know how to face the accusations. Perhaps he didn't want to admit that he had been powerless and it was actually his fault Masaki died.

Or maybe it was the promise he'd made to Masaki. That he'd keep their son, their daughters, their _family_ away from the mess that was Soul Society and the Shinigami. That he'd do his utmost best to protect Ichigo from the betrayals and the backstabbing and the closed-minds. He'd hoped that if he never explained anything, Ichigo would never have to become involved.

He'd been terribly wrong.

So why hadn't Isshin acted sooner? Why hadn't he said something when it became increasingly obvious that his son was getting entangled in Shinigami politics? By then, maybe it was too late to have said anything at all. To have done anything. And at that point, he would only be hated. Better to be thought a fool than that.

Now... now, he couldn't stand idly by anymore. Kisuke had a point. And for Yuzu and Karin's sake, he had to protect their brother. Ichigo needed him; he could no longer ignore that fact. And it was time he did as he was supposed to, as a _father_ was supposed to. It was time he ignored the consequences and weakness bedamned and went to save his _son. _

With that in mind, Isshin left his daughters in Kisuke's care. He could count on the blond to protect them as if they were his own. He also left his carefully crafted gigai with the man and stepped into the world – for only the second time during his self-imposed banishment – in his spirit form. It felt strange to him, like wind blowing on raw skin, abrasive but freeing.

His zanpakutou thrummed at his side, reiatsu stretching from his body to seek out anything familiar. Anything powerful. Practically eager to test its mettle, much like himself. Skills he hadn't used in years suddenly seemed as easy as if he'd been practicing every day. His decision settled across his shoulders, and his feet felt lighter than they had in years.

It was about time he did this. He really should have done this sooner. He could only hope that Ichigo would forgive him for the deceit.

Isshin was going to Hueco Mundo.

* * *

a/n: I know it's shorter than I usually write, but I'm still pretty proud of it. It's also one of the few times I've written Isshin in a positive light. Go me!

More requests should be appearing soon! I hope you enjoyed!


	139. Moving On

**Title: Moving On**

**Pairings: Renji/Tatsuki; hinted one-sided Renji/Ichigo, Renji/Rukia, and Tatsuki/Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Slightly AU, cracky in a way, language, hetkisses **

**Words: 1052**

**Description: ****He was bigger than her and older and supposedly wiser, but there was a vulnerability to him that Tatsuki couldn't ignore.**

**Dedication: For **_**Bad one**_**, who wanted a Renji/Tatsuki. **

* * *

It started when she caught him struggling to get out of his gigai, an amusing thing on its own. And after knocking him over the head a few times – to his disbelief – he finally broke down and explained everything. It later reassured him to know that Ichigo survived the same treatment from her on a daily basis. Not that he wanted to be compared to Ichigo or anything.

From then on, Renji became her liaison to the Shinigami. If she wanted to know anything, she asked him. And Tatsuki counted on him to keep her up to date on the war against Aizen and what Ichigo was doing. Now, when she looked out the window and saw Ichigo, she could at least be relieved that she knew what his frequent absences meant. And she could worry for good reason.

She thought she saw something of a kinship in Renji, who had been inexplicably pulled into the web that surrounded her long-time friend. Brooding, dense, stubborn bastard that he was, Ichigo collected people without knowing how or why he was doing it. He had a magnetism to him, a gravitation that couldn't be avoided. One couldn't help but love him; gods knew Tatsuki had tried to throw away her own feelings. And sometimes, when Renji talked about him, she knew he faced the same struggles as she.

In all honesty, it was Tatsuki who made the first move. If she had waited on Renji, she would've died and gone to Soul Society twice over before he saw past his own carefully hidden misery. She couldn't wait for him, so she kissed him first.

He had been startled. What man wouldn't be to be kissed out of the blue? Especially since he'd been in the middle of explaining the reason behind why Ishida pretended to hate the Shinigami, even though he kept helping them. The bitterness between Shinigami and Quincy was quite deep apparently.

Tired of sitting around and waiting and watching, Tatsuki had taken matters into her own hands. Renji had tasted sweet, and the crumb leftover from his taiyaki on the corner of his mouth had been almost cute. He was supposed to be a grown-up Shinigami bad-ass man. But really, he was just a kid inside. He was bigger than her and older and supposedly wiser, but there was a vulnerability to him that Tatsuki couldn't ignore. In many ways, he was a lot like Ichigo, but she'd never tell Renji that.

She sometimes caught him looking at that Kuchiki girl as well, a longing reflected in his eyes that ran decades deep. And decades it was because Shinigami lived for a long time after all. Sometimes, Tatsuki looked at herself and realized she couldn't possibly compare to someone like Rukia. Smart and talented and strong-minded. It was Rukia who had caused all the changes in Ichigo, breaking through the sorrow that surrounded him when Tatsuki hadn't been able to reach him at all. And maybe, in some way, she envied Rukia for that.

Surely, there was a reason Renji loved her, too.

Tatsuki couldn't compare, so she didn't bother to try. Just like Renji couldn't be Ichigo, she couldn't be Rukia. And it was so much better that way. Whenever she caught Renji gazing longingly anywhere else, she grabbed his hand. Or dragged her fingers up his spine when no one else could see them. Or blew in his ear just to watch him jump guiltily and flush to his ears. For being so old, he still acted like a virginal, teenage boy.

Sometimes, Renji caught her watching, too. And his answer was to that was to loudly involve Ichigo in some sort of scuffle. He rarely won, but when he did, his pride stretched a grin from ear to ear. As if in some way he had also conquered those pesky, painful feelings that occasionally haunted Tatsuki. It endeared her.

It might have been the first time that Tatsuki saw him in battle that she fell in love. And it wasn't because he won or that he kicked ass or that he tore his enemy apart. It was actually because he barely survived, and that was only after suffering a hefty bit of damage in a particularly unspectacular way. However, he never stopped fighting, and that determination might have been what captured her heart.

When they went into Hueco Mundo after Orihime, it wasn't just Ichigo she worried for. But Renji as well. She'd never told him how she felt, just as he'd never told her either.

She fought because she didn't have anything else to do but worry and wait. Her eyes turned towards the sky, as though Hueco Mundo lurked just behind the clouds. And Tatsuki wondered just how hard it was to get there.

She thought of tracing her fingers along dark lines, but never taking it any further than that because something always held her –_ them_ -- back. She remembered running her fingers through long red hair and being enclosed in an embrace made of arms that were too warm to have never held anyone before. She thought of how easily she fit under his chin and how it didn't bother her like it used to. Mostly because she could easily kick Renji's ass if she wanted. She just didn't, you know, _want to_.

And Tatsuki realized as she watched a cloud lazily drift by that her thoughts weren't anywhere near Ichigo. Sure, she worried for him. She prayed every day that he came back alive because he was as precious to her as Orihime. And she wouldn't know what to do if the scowling bastard wasn't around anymore. Her heart, however, didn't twist into knots at just the mental image of him any longer. Instead, it warmed and throbbed and did strange skipping beats when she thought of a certain brash Shinigami with a rather cute inferiority complex.

Huh.

Stranger things. Somehow without looking, like a snap of the fingers, everything _changed_.

Her last thought before the bizarre and unnatural sleep overtook her was that the big, loud idiot better return. And if he didn't, Tatsuki was going to find his tattooed ass and drag it back. She had something to say, and he'd better be around to hear it.

* * *

a/n: Just like Renji/Orihime, Renji/Tatsuki has _grown_ on me. I may try to write it again in the future. They're so cute! And I hope you liked it, too!

Also, if anyone is interested, I'm starting a new fic called _The Sweetest Downfall_ which you can find on adultfanfiction or on my homesite. It's a tad too graphic for this site. The description for it is in my profile.

More requests to come! I promise! Including some steamy ones!


	140. Anywhere but Home

**Title: Anywhere But Home**

**Pairings: Aizen/Ichigo**

**Rating: T to M**

**Warnings: Spoilers? Boykisses and bit more suggested **

**Words: 5,923**

**Description: It was ironic really. That the same man who had destroyed him had saved him from himself. **

**Inspired by the song **_**Anywhere**_** by Evanescence. **

**Dedication: For **_**Panther**_**, who wanted an Aizen/Ichigo. **

* * *

His shoulders were beginning to ache, joining the dull throb of his knees. But those complaints were really the least of Sousuke's worries. Considering his current predicament, he should have been concerned about his future. His life.

A year ago, he never would have pictured himself in this predicament, in this _utter failure_. All because of one human, one _teenager_, one orange-haired child. Sousuke's carefully crafted plans had been shattered irreparably, his aspirations broken in so many shards. The Shinigami had been egotistic and content in their power, had been malleable. All too easily led into his delusions.

And then, Kurosaki Ichigo blazed his way into Seireitei and shattered every one of Sousuke's illusions. He had thought he had planned for everything, for any instance, but he had never foreseen this. Never could have dreamed the effect this one boy would have on his goals.

He couldn't have known that Kurosaki, just by being present, by choosing to fight, would spell Sousuke's end. He dragged the Shinigami from their complacency, forced them to their feet. Made them to see that if they didn't rise, Aizen would crush them. And he would have, if not for Kurosaki Ichigo.

And now, here he was. Bound in their hold, captive to their whims. His army, what remained of it, was scattered across Hueco Mundo, huddled and fearing for its life. Gin, his heir and perhaps only friend, was dead. Kaname was fallen. And his Espada had been defeated as if they were mere Academy students. His palace lay in crumpled ruins, and everything he had worked so hard to obtain was nothing more than ash and dust.

It was pathetic.

Sousuke lifted his head and caught sight of the moon barely gleaming through the bars into his tiny cell. It was the deepest part of night, and yet, he couldn't sleep. Tomorrow, they would come to take him to the darkest of their cells, to the most forgotten levels of Seireitei where he would spend the rest of his significantly shortened life. They wouldn't have been satisfied with an execution, not Seireitei, not with the way he had made fools of them all.

He could feel the emptiness inside of him. The lingering sense of something missing or forgotten. A sense of being hollow within and a loud echo of absolute quiet. Where once there had been a voice, a reflection of his own self, there was now nothing but the agony of silence. It was the worst punishment they could have given him. This vacant void without death.

How pathetic that he should long for his end. It was certainly preferable to this nothingness, to this isolation and imprisonment. How pitiable that he, the former lord of a grand army and would-be king, should be reduced to this.

Sousuke closed his eyes, unwilling to look at the moon as it streaked through the bars of his cell. At the moment, it closely resembled the half-crescent that always hung over Hueco Mundo. It reminded him of his former lordship. It reminded him of the things he had irreparably lost and would never find again.

On the edge of his senses, someone knocked on a door, but Sousuke barely spared the action any attention. It was likely another Shinigami, come to celebrate victory. Or the changing of the guard – always a vice-captain and captain together, as if there were anyone left to care for Sousuke's fate. What did Seireitei think it had left to fear? What would he do as powerless as he was now?

There were voices, but they didn't seem pleased. And then, he heard a pained grunt followed by an aborted shout. The feel of reiatsu in the air rose from a dull hum to a sizzling electricity, like the feel of lightning before the storm. It raised the hair on Sousuke's arms, and he cursed his lack of true senses. Now and forever unable to properly identify the perpetrators.

He heard clashing swords, the ring drizzling to his ears, and then two quiet thumps. Sousuke opened his eyes, staring again at the moon beyond the wall. He could turn to meet his fate, but he was vaguely curious if this new arrival would stab him in the back. Clearly, they had fought against all odds for the right to kill him themselves.

He simply knelt with his back to the door as his cell opened with a definite rattle.

"Ah… Fancying a midnight stroll, were we?"

But to his surprise, rather than a blade through the back, he heard the click of a lock as his shackles were released. A groan slipped through his lips before he could stop it as his arms eased to a more natural position, and Sousuke couldn't help rubbing his fingers over his aching wrists.

"If I'd come to kill you, it would've already happened," a suspiciously familiar voice replied with edged humor. Footsteps followed as he ghosted around Sousuke, until he stood between the former captain and the barred window. "Unless you truly do want to die."

Sousuke frowned, looking up at his guest. The man – for he was definitely a man now, if still a very young one – still held his zanpakutou bared, body taut with tension.

"You? Not at all what I expected," he commented with some semblance of calm. "And may I ask what you are doing here?"

Kurosaki Ichigo scoffed. "What's it look like?" he demanded, free hand tossing forward what appeared to be a cloak. "Getting you out."

Sousuke caught it on reflex, and his hands rubbed over the fabric. They found nothing unusual.

"Why?" He tilted his head, fingers toying with the edge. "Why would you do that, Kurosaki-kun? I am hardly your friend."

"You're hardly my enemy now." Ichigo glanced at him, brown eyes seeming black in the gloom of Sousuke's cell. "And because you weren't wrong. Not about all of it."

Deeply suspicious, Sousuke's gaze tracked his would-be rescuer's every movement. Watching as he did nothing more than sheathe his zanpakutou.

"That is a rather evasive answer," he countered lightly, attempting to figure out Kurosaki's true intentions.

"That's rich coming from you," the younger man retorted in a clipped and borderline irritated tone. "It's the only one you'll get. So either get off your knees or wait for your death. We don't have a lot of time."

Kurosaki was right in that at least. Sousuke was an important prisoner. Someone was constantly checking in, even if logic dictated he couldn't possibly break free on his own. And the moment someone sensed the quiescent reiatsu of those Ichigo had defeated, the alarm would spread.

He entertained an internal battle over trusting this boy… this human. Would Kurosaki free him only to turn and destroy him later? Was this a farce of a different sort? A means to humiliate him further?

All that Sousuke had thought he'd known about Kurosaki flitted away in the face of his incongruity. Yet, in any case, he had a point. Stay and die or take a chance and flee. And when given the choice, Sousuke couldn't honestly say that he would choose death. Some foolish, desperate part of himself still thought to live, even if his ambitions were impossible now.

'_I should have seen this_,' Sousuke thought to himself, even as he rose on trembling limbs and threw the cloak over his shoulders. '_The boy has always been an anomaly. I was never able to predict him. I doubt even his master Urahara is able_.'

In that, Kurosaki Ichigo had only been predictable in his unpredictability.

And truly, he shouldn't have still been surprised as they exited the prison and fled into the night with only a few exchanged words between them. Kurosaki led the way and admittedly did all of the fighting. Even as Sousuke's fingers tingled with the urge to lift blade again, marking the echoing emptiness inside of him where Kyouka Suigetsu had once called. But all he could do was watch from the sidelines, as the boy took out everyone in their path with blunted and silent strikes. He could only trail behind and breathe in the crisp, evening air.

But freedom filled his lungs with each gasp. It had never tasted so sweet. Or so completely bitter.

-----

Sucking in a breath, Sousuke wiped the sweat from his brow, and stared at the cut on his arm. It oozed blood and stung but wouldn't kill him. He hated how difficult battle was for him now. Without his reiatsu, he could only rely on his skills with a sword; one which could never compare to Kyouka Suigetsu at that.

A hand grasped his arm, dragging it into view. Sousuke blinked at the sudden invasion of his personal space, but he didn't pull away. He watched as Kurosaki frowned over the wound, fishing a piece of cloth out of his pocket and placing it over the seeping cut.

As usual, the boy – young man – was barely winded, not a speck of dirt or injury on him. Sometimes, Sousuke wondered if the assassins and soldiers that Seireitei sent after them were just to keep the illusion that they were being chased. Surely, they had to know that those they sent weren't strong enough, not for someone like Kurosaki Ichigo. If the boy wasn't captain-commander level by now, he would eat Kyouraku's hat.

"Doesn't look too bad," Kurosaki murmured as he turned the arm in his hand this way and that.

By now, the both of them had become pretty skilled at treating injuries. And Sousuke was forced to concur with his assessment.

"Might sting a little," the young man added a heartbeat later.

"I think I'll live," Sousuke replied lightly.

Kurosaki nodded and released his hold, though the warm impression of his fingers lingered. "We should move on," he said, sliding Zangetsu against his back. "They'll be back."

"They always do," Sousuke agreed, only casting a brief glance to the defeated bodies strewn about them.

Most of them still lived, but a few might not if help didn't come quickly. The boy still refused to kill, an endearing if naïve trait. It was the last untainted part. And some piece of Sousuke wished that he never learned to accept death so easily himself. Perhaps that he had never been so willing to dispense it.

But he brushed that thought away as he watched Kurosaki start off in a random direction. They never really picked a destination. It was far safer to be haphazard, to be unpredictable.

They walked in silence for a time, companionable as it usually was. There was often little need for words, and yet, Sousuke couldn't help but wonder, but have the question fell from his lips.

"Why?" His voice was soft, and when there was no immediate reply, he thought that his companion hadn't heard.

"That's the second time you've asked me," the boy replied a moment later. It was obvious he didn't need an explanation to know what Sousuke meant.

"I believe there's more to the story," the former captain elaborated.

Kurosaki inclined his head. He glanced over his shoulder as he gingerly stepped around an unconscious member of the Onmitsukidoh. One who'd been thrown this far from the main group but still managed to survive.

"Because I'm next," Ichigo answered succinctly. "And I'm not one to sit and wait for the fire. For them to stab me to death in my sleep."

He wasn't surprised by that, but Sousuke wished he could be. This boy was Soul Society's hero, their trump card. He was the main reason, the only reason, they'd won the war.

But Aizen Sousuke had not come as far as he had by being foolish. Kurosaki was a hero, yes. He was also dangerous. Impulsive. Allied only to himself and his friends. He couldn't be controlled. He couldn't be kept under their thumb. He had no vices to blackmail and no desire for wealth or power. He only wished to protect what he already had and even they – his friends – were more than capable of fighting.

And more than that, he was strong. Kurosaki held power that Soul Society would never understand. And much of it had nothing to do with his bankai or his skills with a blade. More than the reiatsu pulsing at the air around him. He had in spades what the Shinigami lacked entirely.

Sousuke could understand their fear, even if he didn't support it. Fear was for the weak. For those incapable or unwilling to stand on their own. It was the slow poison that led the Shinigami to desert their most powerful asset for the possibility that he might one day do something they didn't want.

The boy was right to choose as he did. Better a life of his own making than to be chained and subservient to anyone. Even if it meant that life was one constant battle after another. Even if it meant that he had to take Sousuke along for the ride.

-----

The storm was like a howling tempest, hurling wind and rain both at them as they crouched in an abandoned building on the outskirts of Rukongai. The roof leaked, and the pungent odor of decay was ripe on the air. It was little more than a hovel, offering little protection against the elements.

Sousuke fought back a shiver, wishing now more than ever that he had his reiatsu to cloak him in warmth. Perhaps even provide the illusion that the sun shone warm and tender on his face. Though the illusions had never worked as well for him as they had to the people he chose to show.

The quarters were cramped, but they had enough room to stretch out their legs if they wished. Not that he or the boy did. It was too cold for that. They sat apart, but somehow, Sousuke felt as if they were only inches away from each other. He could feel lingering tendrils of Kurosaki's reiatsu curl around him, restrained but present, prickling at his skin but not harming him.

The boy had improved over the years. He could now hide himself with the best of them, rivaling even those Sousuke had admired. Sometimes, it was as if he had none, as if he weren't a Shinigami at all, he hid so well. And it was those times that he alarmed Sousuke the most. As if Ichigo had become another person.

Looking through the darkness, where he caught sight of brown eyes staring out through the sagging doorway, Sousuke believed that he looked at another man entirely. This one before him was much older – though his appearance remained largely unchanged – and he was altered by what he had seen. What they had done to survive.

Those eyes – once so innocent – were haunted. Sousuke wondered what he saw when he gazed into the distance like that. What he thought of. The past perhaps. Or the future forever lost to him. One he had willingly given up for one who should've been his enemy.

Again, Sousuke was haunted by reasoning. The same that Kurosaki hadn't given him. Oh, he'd received plenty of answers. But Sousuke suspected they weren't all to the tale. They were never enough.

He pulled his cloak tighter about him, the same one given to him long ago, watching Kurosaki watch the rain fall. The boy – no, man now; he must try to remember – really was attractive. His features carved as if from marble, a firm set to a masculine jaw but softened by a subtle roundness to his cheeks.

"You're staring at me," Kurosaki suddenly said, voice breaking the silence.

Amused despite himself, Sousuke inclined his head. "So I am."

Dark eyes slid towards him, though Ichigo didn't turn his head. "You seem confused."

"Maybe because I'd like to know why you are doing this," Sousuke answered smoothly, though it was something he had prompted many, many times before. "Don't you have another life? Somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Kurosaki snorted, gaze shifting back to the falling rain. "Because this is the only way to have a life. They'd never allow it otherwise. Not with what I am." His lip curled bitterly. As though the taste of the words offended him.

Maybe they did.

"And what are you?" Sousuke questioned with clear interest.

A hand dropped from his lap, reaching down to stroke fingers across the bared blade of Zangetsu. "Human. Shinigami. Vizard." Kurosaki shrugged. "None of the above. All of the above."

"What a crime." It was an ironic statement coming from him.

Kurosaki's head turned towards him, a crooked smirk easing the placid expression on his face. "Unforgivable," he agreed sarcastically. "Absolutely and completely. Even Ukitake would've gone for my head. Undoubted for some noble reason." He gave a sound that was halfway between snort and laugh. "Like they would've needed an excuse."

"No, it is they who have no excuse," the ex-captain countered with a shake of his head. Beneath the cover of his cloak, his hands drew into fists. "If only I had succeeded."

"A little late for that." The younger man tilted his head back against the aging wood, the dark circles beneath his eyes even more prominent in the limited light.

An overwhelming deluge of emotions, too many to count, flooded Sousuke. "Or regret," he added, thoughts turning to Gin and the still sharp jab of guilt that cut through his belly.

"Yeah, that one, too," Kurosaki confirmed and closed his eyes, as though preparing to sleep.

It had been a long day, after all. No Shinigami had been sighted. No proof that they had been found or were being tracked or traced. Even so, both of them remained on edge, just waiting for the necessary moment to flee again.

This wasn't a life. Not for him and definitely not for Kurosaki. And yet, the boy was still here. It baffled him, further than he could understand.

"You haven't abandoned me yet," Sousuke murmured, barely above the rain striking against the sagging roof or the wind battering at the loose wood on the sides. He wasn't sure if he meant it to be a statement or a question. Or possibly even a plea.

Silence followed to the point where Sousuke was certain he hadn't been heard. Or was being ignored. Either was fine. He didn't intend to repeat himself.

But then, Kurosaki stirred, lips moving but nothing else. "I saved you, Aizen. You're my responsibility now."

He wouldn't stand for that. "Sousuke."

Kurosaki's eyelids peeled back, revealing the depths of his eyes. He tilted his head to the side in silent question.

"Let's drop the formality," the former lord clarified, an odd warmth inside of him. "Why bother with it now? We're outlaws. And we're rather stuck with each other, I should think."

"Hnn… that we are." Kuro-- Ichigo clutched his cloak tighter against himself and pulled the straying tendrils of his reiatsu around him until Sousuke couldn't even feel a hint, a _taste_ of his power. "We should get some sleep."

Sousuke said nothing in return and just closed his eyes. There was an overwhelming feeling that _something_ had just occurred. Something fortunate perhaps. He simply didn't know what.

-----

Another faraway place. Another unknown shore. Ichigo had _borrowed _something from his master that enabled them to wander to the living world. And while he was curious, Sousuke didn't ask because using both items prompted a strange gleam in Ichigo's eyes. Thick like regret and heavy like sorrow. So Sousuke didn't ask; this was the boy's show.

The city was a massive metropolis, and it was all too easy to lose a single person within, much less two. Even easier when one of them didn't have any reiatsu that could be tracked and Ichigo had become a master of hiding his. It helped having a human body as well. One that wasn't aging as it should be.

The underworld was dark and seedy, like the worst parts of Rukongai only for the living, infested with drugs and prostitution and violence on every corner. It was the perfect place to hide, to make use of an education that was never quite completed and fighting skills that had no purpose elsewhere. It was also the only way for them to acquire necessary identification. The constant need to be on the move required such.

A stale wind fluttered against the tails of Sousuke's coat as he stood on a corner, waiting and contemplating a cigarette. It wasn't so much that he liked the taste of nicotine, but the very act of smoking made him appear like an entirely different person. The best disguises were ones that weren't really disguises at all. And Aizen Sousuke would never lower himself to such a level, to do something so plebian.

There were bright lights and fast cars and the press of a crowd, far too close for his liking, all around him. Sousuke longed for Soul Society, for the quiet of his former division. He missed Hueco Mundo, the serene silence of the desert and the stark white corridors of Las Noches. The taste of Gin's tea and the easy quiet between them as they stared at into the endless night. The melody of Kyouka Suigetsu's voice ghosting through the air and the weight of a zanpakutou at his side.

Smoke was heavy in his mouth at that remembrance. The flavor of ash and something all too bitter. But that drifted away with the wind as footsteps and a body sidled up beside him.

"Did you wait long?" Ichigo asked, voice faintly hoarse. He stomped his boot against the sidewalk, scraping off a piece of refuse.

"No," Sousuke answered succinctly, the two of them turning to their mutual destination. "Did you get it?"

Ichigo held up a package, slim and wrapped in paper. Sousuke didn't want to know the contents; neither did his friend. They didn't ask, and Sousuke hoped that their time of obligation to the local underlord was soon to be over.

"Easier than I thought it would be," the younger man answered as he fell into line beside him. "And no, I didn't kill anyone."

"Did I ask?" Sousuke returned, cigarette still burning in his hand but now forgotten. "I never do."

Ichigo snorted. "It was all over your face."

The very fact that Ichigo had to make that statement unsettled something within him. Made that familiar hollow ache rise up.

"We don't belong here," he murmured a few heartbeats later.

The other man shrugged. He tucked the package under his arms, though he kept a wary eye out for thieves. Not that many would be foolish enough to approach them. Ichigo might not leak reiatsu like a sieve anymore, but he still had an aura of power and ferocity.

"We don't belong much of anywhere, Sousuke."

A stirring reminder to their current situation. He glance at Ichigo and saw a boy turned man, who could've been something great. Who _had_ been something great. He'd had a life once. He'd been human. He'd had family and friends. He'd had a future.

Ichigo had none of that now. Only his freedom and a ruined would-be god as a companion.

Sousuke, however, said none of this.

"Where's the drop off?" he inquired instead, throwing his cigarette to the ground and simply allowing it to burn out.

Ichigo rolled his shoulders, tiredness darkening his eyes. "A few hours from now. We have time."

They wandered into a park or what was left of one. Surely, it must have been beautiful once upon a time. A place where children played, laughter filling the air. Now, it was abandoned and decrepit, the equipment rusted and rotten. Weeds cluttered the flower beds, along with the refuse of society, and a lingering odor of unsavory things tainted the air.

Sousuke gazed at the man walking beside him and wondered as he had many times before. Years had passed; he should just accept what had happened. Yet, he still couldn't fathom Ichigo, this strange man who he now called friend. Sousuke couldn't understand why he had risked everything, had thrown it all away. He could've just as easily disappeared with the other Vizard. Could've taken his friends and family with him.

"Ichigo," he began, voice soft but reaching. "Why are you doing this?"

Brown eyes flickered to him, and he shifted the package from one arm to the other. "What? Carrying a suspicious package through an abandoned park? Or why am I helping you? Because I'm pretty sure I've already answered the second one."

"It doesn't make any sense," Sousuke countered logically. "You helped defeat me. You were there when they severed my soukatsui." As much as it pained him to remember, Sousuke did it anyway. "And then, a day later, you knocked out the guards and freed me. Why? Why would you do this?"

Ichigo sighed, raking a hand through his significantly longer hair. Not quite enough to pull back but getting there.

"Because I stopped believing in Soul Society a long time ago," Ichigo replied, once again with a different answer. His tone dropped, filled with disquiet. "Maybe even before I lifted Zangetsu against you. Maybe before I even saved Rukia."

"What do you believe in then?" Sousuke had a driving desire to know; something that surprised himself. He didn't have much drive or desire these days. "Strength? Justice?"

"None of the above?"

Frustrated, he pushed for more. "Well?"

"Myself. And no one else." Ichigo paused mid-step, surrounded by the dying trees and graffitied benches. His lips pulled into a wry and crooked grin. "Well, maybe the geta-boushi. And my sisters. Yeah, Chad, too." His voice grew melancholy as he recalled his friends and family. "But that was a long time ago. Years and years. All I have now is myself. And you, I suppose."

Sousuke shifted, vaguely uncomfortable but unwilling to let this drop. "Do you regret your decision?"

"I make it a point not to," Ichigo retorted, the wind stirring at his hair and throwing it into his eyes. He impatiently tucked it behind his ear. "Because once you start, you find a bunch of other things you should regret. And it never ends." He turned as if to continue moving, only to flick his eyes back towards Sousuke. "Do you?"

Furrowing his brow, the ex-captain breathed in. He let the intoxicating scent of Ichigo wash over him, helping to combat the horrid and lingering odor of the park.

"Do I what?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Ichigo watched him for a moment. "Regret any choice you made."

Sousuke faltered, considering the breadth of that question. With failure hanging over his head like a never-ending storm and the death of his companions clinging to his conscience, did he regret? With the reality that his existence would never be anything more than a constant escape into the night, could he claim that he would choose the same? That he could once more have Gin beheaded by that airheaded fool Hirako and be powerless to stop it? That he could be desperate to reach Kyouka Suigetsu only to have her slip from his grasp?

Did he regret any of it? Could he regret when it would devalue so much?

"Even knowing what I know now," he replied slowly, even if such a thing were an impossibility, "I do not regret anything. Otherwise, that would belittle everything I attempted to accomplish. Every choice I made and all that was sacrificed for it."

"Which is another reason why I don't regret. Not anything I've done." Ichigo angled back towards him, closing the distance. "Not fighting. Not bleeding. Not even ripping you out of their clutches." He smirked then. "In fact, that last one is pretty damn amusing."

Sousuke had to admit that Ichigo was right. He wished he could have seen the look on the old man's face when his precious prisoner had vanished. The way Hitsugaya must've torn his hair out in frustration. How Hirako had probably shouted and his blonde chit screamed. And Urahara… Sousuke could only imagine how he had reacted. To know that his dear student had made off with his worst enemy. That image alone was almost worth losing.

"They never saw it coming, did they?" Sousuke asked ironically, lips curling upwards.

"Not a chance," Ichigo murmured with gleaming eyes. "They never did understand me. Never even tried to. Not like you do." And suddenly, he was very close, breath mere inches away. Near enough to fog up Sousuke's glasses.

Sousuke wondered why, even as he unconsciously admired the striations of colors in Ichigo's eyes. He wanted to say that they were brown, but they were also so much more than that. Fading like leaves in autumn. Fresh like newly turned soil. Smooth like the richest and most expensive chocolate.

And when had he become so internally poetic? A different creative outlet since he was no longer plotting death and mayhem perhaps?

But even that wasn't enough to quiet him, to have him pull away. It was undoubtedly safer to do so. However, he did like to live dangerously these days.

"I expected to die in that place," Sousuke said then, careful but on the edge. "I had wondered many times why they did not just execute me. It would've been smarter."

Ichigo laughed, and for once, it was a true sound. "When have the Shinigami ever been smart. They just wanted you to suffer. And I obviously didn't approve."

"And someday," Sousuke inserted as he pressed in closer, "you'll tell me the real reason why."

The look Ichigo gave him was all cocky grin and recklessness. A hint of the rash and bold boy who still lurked beneath the surface.

"What?" he questioned with a tilted head. "My previous answers weren't good enough?"

Ichigo was teasing him. Even Sousuke could tell that. He shook his head and tossed the younger man a glance. And as regrettable as it was, he knew it was time to move on. From both the conversation and the park.

"We can't be late for the drop, Ichigo," he reminded gently, taking a step away and turning.

Behind him, he heard a boot crunch against the dry ground, crackling over broken glass and dead leaves. Ichigo's hand reached for his shoulder, surprising him. And when Sousuke turned back, mouth open to ask a question, Ichigo was suddenly there.

Sousuke received a glimpse of dark eyes before lips fell over his, warm and sweet. Tasting faintly of the candy Ichigo had grown fond of eating, his one remembrance of his sisters and Urahara's candy shop. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, taking advantage of parted lips and coaxing Sousuke's mouth to widen. He did, out of surprise and want both, letting Ichigo control the kiss.

And then, it was over.

Ichigo pulled away and ahead of him as if nothing had happened. As if the near decade of their association had always been full of such things. Even when it had so obviously not.

"Try that for a reason," he called out mischievously, tipping the package back at him as if in salutation.

Sousuke stared at him for a second before trailing behind. The faint taste of Ichigo burned on his lips.

-----

Warmth for the first time in so long. And bright beams of sunlight spilling in dappled streaks across a thick comforter, rumpled from use. The smell of cooked food on the air, the scent enough to make his belly rumble. But that was to be saved for later. Right now, he had more important business.

Sucking in a breath, Sousuke pressed his face to Ichigo's bare throat, breathing in the scent. A pulse throbbed beneath his lips, and Ichigo's fingers dragged down his back, urging him onwards. Demanding, promising that if he didn't, Ichigo would be the one to turn the tables.

A rare moment of peace. He reveled in it and the body beneath him. The slide of skin on skin and sweat dotting his forehead.

His hand skated along the outside of Ichigo's bare thigh, fingers curling around as he dragged Ichigo where he wanted him. Sousuke coiled with want, heat flushing over his skin. His lips passed over a tender neck, nibbling and sucking and tasting what he had never even thought to desire before. And still, despite this, despite the urgency and denial of years pressing down, Sousuke wondered.

Things had changed, were still changing. The answers couldn't be the same as they were before. And he dragged his mouth upwards until he sealed his lips over another pair, tongues immediately touching. Ichigo never surrendered to a kiss; he always greedily fought to make it his own. Such adamant battle made Sousuke's blood boil with lust, with a fire he hadn't experienced in so long.

"Why?" Sousuke whispered, _demanded_, breath a moist puff against Ichigo's lips. "_Why__?_"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, fingers digging into the muscles of Sousuke's back. "You ask me that now?" He gasped and hooked a leg around his soon-to-be lover, dragging him closer.

"Of course." Sousuke nipped at his ear. "What better time?"

"Maybe when we're _not_ two inches away from actual sex!" Ichigo growled, full of annoyance. But the sound was sexy, rattling down Sousuke's spine.

He chuckled, nuzzling into Ichigo's throat and inhaling. "Why?"

Ichigo groaned and arched beneath him, a familiar part of him bumping against Sousuke's bare hip. "Shut up. Sex now. Talking later," he all but snarled.

And honestly, it took a stronger man than Sousuke to resist such a request.

He just smiled and pushed down with a slow thrust that made both of them moan. And the world dissolved into pleasure and heat and the feel of hands sliding up his back and into his hair.

That night, Sousuke understandably didn't get an answer.

-----

However and very true to form, he asked again. The previous responses just hadn't satisfied him.

"Why?" Sousuke murmured in the dark of their shared room. Eyes barely able to see in the light shining in pale beams through the lines in the blinds.

Ichigo shifted, arms warm around the man beside him and close enough that Sousuke could feel his heart beating. He just gazed at his lover for a long moment, eyes softened and gleaming.

"Because I love you."

He made it sound so simple. He made it sound so easy. And ironically, Sousuke thought that for all the reasons Ichigo had told him over the years of running and hiding and reveling in freedom, it sounded the most honest. The most true.

It made him wonder if that should have been Ichigo's answer all along. If it _would _have been had Sousuke only dared to listen. Had he looked back at their time together with something other than curiosity.

And he simply closed his eyes, pressing his lips in a soft kiss to the nearest flesh he could reach, part of Ichigo's arm. It was his silent answer to such a truth. To words and a sentiment he returned but couldn't yet say.

He just settled in beside his lower and wondered at what the morning would bring. More running. More hiding. Forever chased by the Shinigami. An endless lifetime of flight, always looking over their shoulders. Always wondering but always together.

Strange how it didn't sound so bad anymore. Not bad at all.

* * *

a/n: Yet another request fulfilled. I probably could have posted this one on its own. Maybe I will later. But for now, it's in here. I do so love this pairing. It's so much fun to write from Sousuke's POV. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	141. Trinity

**Title: Trinity**

**Characters: Ichigo/Renji/Rukia **

**Rating: M. Definitely M. **

**Warning: boysmut, boyandgirlsmut, language, porn dancing with plot and performing a rather jiggy tango**

**Words: 3536**

**Description: They need her, and she needs them. If someone asks, not that anyone would dare, that's what Rukia would say. **

**Dedication: For **_**Leafgreen**_** who wanted this threesome**

**a/n: I'm not going to lie. This is pron with a capital PRON. Lol. But I like it. **

* * *

They are fighting again. Over something stupid this time, she's sure. Rukia has yet to see them have an actual, heated argument over a topic of any worth. Even when it comes to her, it's always something silly.

Rukia sighs and flips a page in her magazine, pretending not to notice as Ichigo slams a fist into Renji's gut. There's a startled whoosh of air before the redhead recovers, tackling Ichigo across the room. The outright thud nearly tips over her drink, but she's been through this before. Her hand has already moved to steady it.

The apartment really is too small for this, the three of them. Together in the unconventional way that they are. Rukia can't help but wonder if it's even possible for them to remain this way. Relationships are hard enough for two people, but to add a third to the mix? Especially those two?

Can it work?

She thinks of the world. The natural order of things is to exist in pairs. Mating couples. Man and woman. Black and white. Opposing colors. Love and hate. Sword and sheath. Bow and arrow. Zanpakutou and Shinigami. Peace and war. And so many others. There's little room for a third equal party.

Rukia takes a sip of her drink, glancing at her boys. Ichigo has Renji in a headlock, but Renji's got a good grip on Ichigo's hair. It's how they show their love or something. At least, that's what Orihime claims. Sometimes, she wonders how she fits in that. The bond between men is different than that between a man and a woman.

She knows that they love her in their own way, and she loves them as well. Rukia can't imagine her life without either of them in it. Ichigo and Renji have become so ingrained in her existence, she can't tell where she ends and they begin. It's almost scary how much she needs them.

Is she the only one who worries? Who thinks about the future?

Rukia doesn't know. Ichigo and Renji don't seem the type to be concerned about this sort of thing. But Rukia wonders all the time.

Can anything exist as a trio? As three instead of two?

She tries to think of something, anything that could be taken that way. Something that is essential as three.

The leaves of clover. The Holy trinity, like she'd read about from the living world. Sea, earth, and sky. The sides and angles of a triangle. The sun, moon, and stars. The primary colors: blue, red, and yellow. The amount of books in a trilogy. Rock, paper, scissors. Shinigami, Hollow, and human... Except Ichigo happens to be all of the above.

But are they enough?

The sound of scuffling stops, and Rukia peers over the edge of her magazine. Ichigo has Renji pinned, both hands locked around the redhead's wrists. He's sealed his mouth over Renji's, one emotion exchanged for the other. Her boys are beautiful together, as much as they are separate. She can't help but watch, all interest in the glossy pages lost.

Renji is reckless heat, barely restrained. He is rougher with Ichigo than he is with her, wrestling around with hungry abandon. His holds are stronger, kisses more bruising. But he is always gentle with Rukia, as if touching something he can't believe he has finally gained.

Ichigo is the tie that binds them. He can return Renji's ferocity with equal fervor and smack some sense into him when necessary. He doesn't let Renji sulk. He is passion, warm and soft, like a blanket wrapping around them. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, and sometimes, he clings to Rukia like someone desperately seeking safety in a storm.

Renji has more experience, but Ichigo is a quick learner. And Rukia is the mastermind of them both, loving to watch them together as much as she enjoys being with them herself.

They need her, and she needs them. If someone asks, not that anyone would dare, that's what Rukia would say.

They all have their connections with each other, and that makes Rukia wonder how they haven't gotten sick of one another yet. How jealousy hasn't completely made its home and driven them apart. Renji and Ichigo can be rough together. They fight and spar all the time, cutting loose where they wouldn't dare with her. She just can't keep up to their desire to get stronger. There is the added benefit of a rivalry, a connection that doesn't match up to what she shares with them.

And Renji and Rukia have their past, their lives together in Rukongai. They share their lives as Shinigami and see each other more as a result. She wonders if Ichigo ever feels lonely in the living world as a result of that.

But then, Rukia's been assigned to Karakura, and she spends a lot of her time there. With Ichigo. Renji's visits are limited to when he is allowed leave to come be with them or the times when Ichigo can escape from school to come to Seireitei.

They are there for each other. Always. In June when Ichigo slips into a melancholy that hasn't eased despite the passing years. In sorrow when any random thing reminds Rukia of Kaien and her failures. In anger when Renji despises himself for not yet meeting his goals.

She wants so desperately for it to last.

Ichigo lets out a gasp as Renji bends his knee, grinding it against his covered arousal. The substitute growls low in his throat, a smirk stealing across his lips before he drops his mouth to Renji's throat, teeth scraping across the darker skin. He laps his tongue over a tattoo and makes Renji groan.

Rukia's belly tightens, and her cheeks heat. She doesn't want to be just a casual observer. She wants to join them.

She sets aside her magazine, careful to mark the page, and stealthily crawls over the floor. Neither seems to notice her approach until her hand creeps up Renji's shirt, palming heated flesh. He groans, and his eyes open, her name falling from his lips.

Ichigo looks at her, heat in his eyes. "Finally decided to join us?" he says, voice a low growl that shoots straight through her and pools in her belly.

"Oh? Was that show for me?" Rukia returns, arranging herself and busily pushing Ichigo aside with a playful nudge of her side. She grins cheekily and insinuates herself partially in the way, lowering her head to steal Renji's lips from Ichigo's reach.

Ichigo wisely releases one of Renji's hands, and it rises to tangle in her hair, helping him to deepen the kiss. She sighs into his mouth, their tongues dueling as he tastes of a mixture of himself and Ichigo. Beside her, Ichigo mutters something, and she hears him moving, the floor creaking as he shifts his weight. And then Renji moans, the sound vibrating into their kiss.

She sneaks a peek and sees the reason behind the noise. Ichigo has taken it upon himself to divest Renji of his borrowed pants and has licked a long, wet line across the redhead's arousal. Rukia shivers herself, knowing the talent of that tongue and then pushes her palm further up Renji's belly, admiring with her fingers the firmness of his muscles.

It's always a confusion of limbs, she reflects briefly. These encounters between the three of them, because they rarely – if ever – commit anything without all three members present. She's gotten to the point now where she can tell one touch from another, but in the beginning, she remembers being overwhelmed by sensation.

Fingers tickle up the back of her leg, and she knows it has to be Ichigo as he slips under her skirt and under the hem of her panties. She unconsciously shifts position, spreading her legs to make it easier and fumbling with one hand to undo a small button and help him remove both. They slide off her hips and legs with relative ease, joining the strange puddle of mismatched clothes on the floor.

She glances over her shoulder, and her stomach leaps into her throat at the sight of Ichigo's mouth on Renji, something that never fails to arouse her. And then, his fingers are back on her, teasing at her folds and pressing inside, making her moan. One of her hands clench against the floorboard as she dots kisses along Renji's throat, one of the redhead's hands creeping under her own shirt. His palm is hot and heavy against her, even more so as it moves upwards and cups her breast in its lacy confines.

Rukia's hips take up a soft rhythm as Ichigo's fingers move inside her until he suddenly removes them, and she hears the sound of plastic crinkling. The sound is easily identified, and the heat racing through her body centers and pools in her groin. Renji groans too as she catches a glimpse of Ichigo rolling the condom over him.

Ichigo moves forward and grabs her hips, gently guiding her over Renji. His hands glide down her sides, teasing touches as she lowers herself, sucking in a breath as the lieutenant slides inside of her. Renji lets out a low groan of want, his fingers clamping down on her hips as he struggles not to move too quickly. She can feel Ichigo behind her, his lips on the side of her throat as his hands move to the buttons of her blouse.

Even without seeing them, Ichigo undoes them quickly, pulling off the shirt and tossing it to the side. His fingers make even quicker work of her bra, and as he presses his chest against her back, she feels his own arousal nudge against her buttocks, insistent and wanting. He mutters something into the crook of her neck, his hands cupping her, fingers tugging and playing with her nipples.

Rukia can't help but surrender to the dual sensations of her lovers touching her, hips moving restlessly atop Renji. He finally realizes it's alright to move and slowly thrusts into her, a slick slide in and out that rattles through Rukia's entire body. Frankly, she's surprised Ichigo has held back this long, obviously the maestro for the night. On another evening, it might be her. Or another, it could be Renji. They never really know, and maybe it's that spontaneity that makes it so damn erotic.

She is a force in motion, her body rising and swelling between them. And then suddenly Ichigo is gone, warmth missing from her back. Rukia is given no time to complain about the loss before Renji surges upwards, picking her up as if she weighs nothing and changing positions. She finds her back on the floor, comfortable amidst a hefty pile of clothing rather than bare wood.

He growls low in his throat, but his returning thrust into her is careful and restrained. Renji's mouth covers hers hungrily, tongue seeking hers, and she is eager to reply. They speak here without words, the only sounds to fill the room that of their staggered breathing, skin sliding against skin, and erotic moans. Rukia clings to Renji as wave after wave of pleasure rattles through her body, slithering through her senses to build into a thick press of want in her belly. It churns and coils, like a snake waiting to strike, a tension demanding to be released.

Renji's rhythm falters, and Rukia looks past him, finding that Ichigo is pressing against Renji from behind. Renji tosses his head, hair falling around him in a crimson curtain and prompting Rukia to bury some of her fingers in the soft length. She loves Renji's hair and has often begged him not to cut it. Ichigo has as well, thought not in so many words. She's seen him pull it on occasion, an action that usually illicits a very favorable response from Renji.

Ichigo's hands settle on the redhead's hips, and Rukia slides her hand up to meet his, briefly squeezing his fingers. Renji buries his face in her neck, a low sound passing as Ichigo presses into him. She remembers fights for dominance once upon a time, the both of them grappling for long hours before one or the other submits. Now, there is no argument; there is only pleasure.

Renji throbs in her, and Ichigo sucks in a breath, leaning over Renji to kiss her. It is a tight squeeze, but they make it. There is a sloppy connection of tongues before Renji turns his head, stealing Ichigo's lips for his own.

The sight always makes something in her clench with need; it's so erotic. She watches the muscles ripple in Renji's neck as he picks up rhythm again, his tattoos gleaming with sweat. One hand curves around her back, holding her effortlessly as he slides in and out of her, building a delicious heat in her groin. They move together so flawlessly, months of familiarity doing away with the confusing placement of limbs and hands and mouths, only desiring to bring pleasure to one another. Sometimes, she's surprised jealousy hasn't become more of an issue. Other times, she knows why it never will be.

She cries out as she comes, shaking in Renji's arms and pulling him in with her. He groans, a mixture of names dropping from his mouth in a confused tangle, and spills into the latex barrier. Behind Renji, Ichigo curses, fingers tightening in their hold as the other man becomes languid in his arms.

Rukia edges out from beneath them, her body still shaky from her orgasm. She admires her two men as Ichigo grabs Renji's arm and pulls Renji onto his lap, muscles flexing and shifting in all the right ways. Rukia rises to her knees, reaching around Renji to drag Ichigo's lips to hers, trapping Renji between them, he gasping at the combined assault. Renji deftly rides out Ichigo's thrusts, the sounds they make a series of grunts, growls, and groans that would be frightening if they weren't so sexy.

She gets hot again just listening to them, and even as Ichigo slows his pace, trying to draw things out, Renji's arousal has barely faded at all. Rukia drops a hand, her fingers carefully plucking the full condom and tossing it to the side to be cleaned later. She wraps her hand around him, stroking him in all the ways she knows he likes.

Renji groans and throws an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him. Her breasts collide with his chest, nipples rubbing against his slick skin. Her hand is trapped between their bodies, though she never stops stroking him. Renji's fingers slide down her body, one slipping inside her and dragging through her wetness. She gasps something unintelligible, a mixture of syllables that doesn't require translation.

They move together, a disjointed rhythm that somehow works, surrendering to the passion and the pleasure. Rukia just clings to them, feeling connected to both. She watches as Ichigo finally comes, slamming up into Renji with more force than he would ever use with her. His entire body shakes as his back bows, his head colliding with Renji's shoulder.

Rukia's mouth hungrily moves to the redhead's, tangling her tongue with his and briefly tasting Ichigo on Renji's lips. The kiss is heated, a frenzy of motion, before she feels Renji shudder. He spills a messy splatter into her hand, heat radiating from his body. His fingers curl in her, thumb moving to press against her arousal, and Rukia moans and joins him as her body writhes against his.

The three of them collapse in a sweaty bundle of limbs, drowsiness pulling at Rukia's eyelids. It's been a lazy day, making for lazy moments where all she wants to do is curl up with her boys and let time pass her by. Renji stirs first a few minutes later, working himself free to pad softly to the adjoining bathroom. He returns later with a wet rag, cleaning the three of them up.

They alternate, she thinks to herself fondly, and Renji's turn happened to be this time around. Rukia throws out an arm, idly letting her fingers tickle at Ichigo's side as his eyelids flutter, close to sleep himself.

He lazily swats at her. "Stop it," he mutters half-heartedly.

She finds it incredibly amusing that he's so ticklish to such light touches. "We do have a bed," Rukia reminds him because sleeping in a large pile of bodies has become the unusual norm for them.

"You're still on the floor, too," he retorts, and in true male fashion, stretches out across the floor as though it were the most comfortable place in the world. Completely at home in his nudity.

Rukia can still remember a time that the simple act of removing his shirt made him turn a red darker than Renji's hair. And now, it's just natural for him to initiate things, to luxuriate in his own naturalness as well as Rukia and Renji's. He can look at them both without blushing now, and she's even been the victim of a few subtle gropings when no one is watching. Renji is far less subtle, something which often prompts the disagreements between he and Ichigo.

Renji returns and steps over both of them, offhandedly toeing Ichigo in the side on his way to the futon. "Bed's more comfortable," he reminds the both of them, dropping down on said item and making himself at home. He's the biggest of them, and as such, he takes up the most space.

"Bastard," Ichigo mutters, but since Rukia agrees with Renji, she hauls herself upwards and crawls over him, pausing briefly to exchange a kiss.

His hand glides down her back, but then, she's gone and heading for the bed. Rukia snuggles against Renji's side, the heat of his body always greater than her own. Renji is like his own source of warmth, one that requires little more than a thin sheet regardless of the season. Rukia herself is always perfectly comfortable, and Ichigo complains that he's always cold.

"Hey there," Renji mumbles when she joins him.

She trails a finger down a familiar tattoo on his chest, tracking the jagged edges. She has an absurd obsession with his tattoos, perhaps because she knows what they mean to him.

She smiles. "Hey yourself."

Rukia hears a sigh as Ichigo throws himself to his feet and shuffles across the floor, snapping his palm against the switch. Darkness falls, broken only by the light streaking in through the blinds, and then, Ichigo is padding towards the bed. He climbs in, elbowing Renji aside to make room, and wriggling into a comfortable position.

She rolls her eyes as the two playfully jostle at each other for several annoying seconds before they find a situation that seems to make them all comfortable. Even going so far as to bodily pick Rukia up and thrust her between them where she's sure to suffocate all night.

She knows that by morning, Ichigo will end up in the middle – still complaining that he's cold – and Renji will be half off the futon, one foot shoved towards the floor. She herself will be curled into perfect comfort between Ichigo and the wall, the pillow somehow shoved between them. She doesn't know why they shift like that, but it happens.

They fit together, even as different they are. And she still wonders if they can stay forever like this. In their togetherness as three separate but whole parts.

Sea, earth, and sky. Ichigo as the sky, blanketing over them. Always reaching higher, binding them together. Renji as their earth, solid and strong in the face of everything. Determined, resolute. And Rukia herself, the endlessly flowing water. Cool and calm but a force to be reckoned with when angered.

Sun, moon, and stars. She thinks Renji would agree with her in saying Ichigo is like the sun to them. It is him, after all, they must thank for making this possible, for helping them to understand the truth. Renji forever bays at the moon, resolute to reach it. And Rukia is the stars, glittering and gleaming, seemingly from a distance.

Red, blue, and yellow. Primary colors. Renji is their passion, red as fire. Burning bright with eyes the color of the dying sunset. Ichigo is their light, determination gleaming golden. Rukia is their balance, what keeps everything in check, endlessly solid blue.

Renji sighs and shifts position, throwing an arm over the both of them then, sure to share his body heat. Ichigo grumbles but doesn't move away from the sprawled arm. Rukia just lies there, curled between the both, feeling unexpected emotions swelling in her chest.

She loves them. She knows that she does. And she doesn't have to ask or demand confirmation to be sure they return it. Rukia doesn't want this to ever end, even as she contemplates the reality of it all. She doesn't know what the future will bring or how they will meet it. But she does no she's not letting go. She's going to hold onto them, to _this_ with both hands.

And come what may – devil or beast or Aizen – she won't let go.

* * *

a/n: EXHAUSTED. My first threesome with a het pairing in there and my second time writing het. So forgive me if it is entirely unrealistic and all that jazz. I have zero experience writing het pronz despite being a mostly heterosexual female myself.

Also, this is my preferred pairing/threesome when it concerns the three of them. I'd rather see an Ichigo/Renji/Rukia than an Ichigo/Rukia or a Renj/Rukia or an Ichigo/Renji. Honestly. That's the truth. So will we see more? I'm going to try and write more, that's for sure. I love it!

Also, I started posting my new fiction _The Sweetest Downfall_ but you won't see here on . It's too graphic. So you can find it on my homesite or on adultfanfiction under the same penname. All links are in the profile!

Also, good/bad news. NaNoWriMo is coming up in November so you know what that means! I'll be taking November off for a hiatus and will be back in December. But when I come back, I'll be opening up requests for a brief week. Keep that in mind!

Thanks to everyone! See you next week!


	142. Dancing with Death

**Title: Dancing with Death**

**Characters: Ichigo/Byakuya, random Kuchiki minions**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crackish, dubious humor, light kissing**

**Words: 3037**

**Description: "I assure you, Ichigo, the Kuchiki have made no great effort to assassinate you." Part of the Never Been Kissed series.  
**

**Dedication: This is in honor of musicallady1 who I recently learned passed away. She was a great reader of mine and a constant reviewer, and I wish I had gotten to this request before her passing. I will certainly miss our constant conversations. This is for her. Thank you!**

* * *

It started out subtly. And then, it became distinctly obvious. And worsened to the point that Ichigo was sure something had to be done about it soon, or they would actually succeed.

And by succeed, he meant that Ichigo would find himself a permanent member of Soul Society rather quickly without ever properly finishing out the extent of his human life. And then, he doubted he would last long before they would find some way to usher him onto his next life.

The Kuchiki were out to get him. And his damn boyfriend – also, coincidentally, a Kuchiki – didn't believe him.

The first time, Ichigo chalked it up to a coincidence. A disastrously cliché coincidence but one all the same. Walking down the street, a flower pot barely missing his head by a few inches. He looked up to see someone giving him an apologetic smile, and well, Ichigo just sort of shrugged it off. No big deal.

The second instance was a little more obvious. He was having tea with Ukitake-san, and they were having a pleasant time of it. The captain was suggesting that he teach Ichigo a few of the more advanced kidoh, while Ichigo stirred a few cubes of sugar into his tea, never able to drink the stuff without it. A strange sound had traveled to his ears, and when he looked down and pulled out his spoon, Ichigo noticed that half of it had melted away. Seconds later, liquid spilled all over the saucer and table as the cup itself dissolved. Acid ate through the saucer and then a large portion of the tabletop, dripping down to the floor where it preceded to eat through several inches of wood before losing strength.

Both he and Ukitake-san were left gaping at it. Especially since nothing at all had happened to the older man's tea.

"Who... who made this?" Ichigo demanded with a thick swallow.

Ukitake-san edged away from his cup, pushing it from him with one long, elegant finger. "Kiyone perhaps? Or Sentarou?"

Ichigo shook his head. "Did I do something to offend them?"

Ukitake-san could only stare in wonder. And when later questioned, both third-seats adamantly denied trying to poison Ichigo, and well, he was inclined to believe them. He'd done nothing to either of them, and really, it seemed a little out of their league to try something like this.

The third attempt approached ridiculous and was when Ichigo really began to consider that someone was trying to kill him. He had been walking down some stairs in Seireitei, attempting to get from one place to another and foregoing shunpo because he was in no rush, when he'd been pushed from behind. And then subsequently tripped by someone.

Fortunately for Ichigo, his reflexes were superb, and a quick manipulation of spirit particles had him standing on empty air. But by the time he turned, the perpetrators were gone. Not even their reiatsu was traceable. Che, cowards.

That was also the first time Ichigo began to get an inkling that someone was out to get him. Though he hadn't yet decided to blame it on the Kuchiki.

Until the fourth attempt.

Wandering around in Rukongai because his two guides – Ikkaku and Renji – had gotten drunk and arrested and thereby leaving him to find his own way back to Seireitei, Ichigo had been mugged. Well, he had assumed it was a mugging as the guy sort of attacked him and grappled very uselessly at his shoulders. It had only taken a few punches and kicks on Ichigo's part to lay him flat, and his three following friends.

Of course, Ichigo could have taken that for the mugging were it not for the fact that none of his attackers even looked like residents of Rukongai. Oh sure, they wore the clothes of the oppressed, tattered and somewhat stained. But with hands that weren't calloused and skin nice and moisturized, they didn't look desperate enough to be on the wrong side of the law. Of course, the fact that one of them wore a bracelet with the Kuchiki symbol etched into the metal might have been his biggest clue.

And the most recent attempt gave him his largest indication of all. It had been pure instinct to dodge those darts flying at him out of nowhere. And after he'd retrieved them from being stuck in the wall, he noticed the symbols that danced in the metal. The Kuchiki clan.

It was at that point Ichigo decided they really were trying to kill him though he had no clue why. Possibly because he was dating their heir and they weren't too happy with that. He knew they had dozens of nice young woman lined up for Byakuya's perusal, and the man just wasn't bowing to their every whims. Maybe they blamed that on Ichigo.

Still, that didn't give them the right to try to assassinate him. _Try_ being the operative word here since they weren't anywhere close to succeeding. However, it still made Ichigo tiptoe around everything in his life, wondering what absurd method they would try next.

"Would you please stop pacing," Byakuya stated mildly, his voice cutting through Ichigo's thoughts as he idly flipped the page in the book he was reading. "It is very distracting."

He turned towards his older lover with a snarl dancing on his lips. "Distracting?" Ichigo repeated sharply and waved one hand wildly through the air. "Would you be able to relax if someone was out there, plotting your demise?"

Byakuya eyed him over the edge of a page. "I am the heir to a noble family. There is hardly a day that goes by without someone seeking my death."

"Why didn't you warn me this would happen?"

"I did not believe – and I still don't – that it would ever be a problem," the Kuchiki heir answered, shifting his gaze back to his book. "And I was under the impression you were capable of taking care of yourself. As evidenced by the fact you are still alive and well in front of me."

The substitute Shinigami snorted. "Not for long, if your family has anything to say about it."

"Ichigo, they would never harm you," Byakuya retorted in a tone one would use when speaking to a particularly slow child before dropping into something a bit more seductive. "They would never dare. They know what you mean to me."

It was bait, but Ichigo didn't bite.

"I don't care what you say, Byakuya," the teenager snarled, steps carrying a frantic pace across the floor of a stately study of the Kuchiki manor. "Your damn family is out to get me."

The noble looked at him and arched one well-manicured brow, face placid but his eyes betraying his amusement. "I assure you, Ichigo, the Kuchiki have made no great effort to assassinate you."

Frustrated, Ichigo glared at his lover, feeling just a bit twitchy. "I didn't say it was great," he stated through clenched teeth before throwing his hands up into the air. "They fail spectacularly every time!"

"Then what are you complaining about?" Byakuya returned mildly. His lips twitched as though trying to hold back great mirth.

"Argh!"

Ichigo turned on one heel, stalking away from the captain before he followed through with the urge to commit some violence. He loved this man dearly, but sometimes, Byakuya could be quite impossible. Case in point.

"Forget it!" He threw over his shoulder, vibrating with annoyed tension. Zangetsu and Shirosaki weren't too happy either. "I'll survive on my own."

Byakuya didn't seem to realize his leaving for what it was. He set his book to the side, rising to his feet.

"Are you sure this isn't some cry for attention?" he posed, following after Ichigo with that annoying scarf a pale trail in his wake.

Ichigo ground his teeth, refusing to answer the sheer ridiculousness of that question. He was not insane. He was not imagining things. Something strange was going on, and if it wasn't the Kuchiki attempting the assassination, then it was _somebody_. And he was going to find out who.

"I can definitely tell the honeymoon's over," Ichigo muttered under his breath, ignoring Byakuya's absurd accusation.

"Tell me why you think they would try assassination," Byakuya started to say, pulling up beside Ichigo and taking on an expression that proved he was only humoring his lover. "The Shihouin would know better than to anger their head. The Kasumioji are far too fond of you, as are the Shiba. And the others are far too afraid of the Kuchiki, you, and your variety of friends. So tell me again why you think your life is in danger."

Ichigo whirled sharply, glaring at the slightly taller man. And boy didn't that still _burn_.

"I am not imagining things," he hissed, body shaking with a rising anger.

"I did not say that you were," Byakuya returned too soothingly for Ichigo's comfort. And he lifted a hand, reaching for his lover and attempting to draw the younger man into his embrace.

Ichigo allowed it because he'd rather not be angry. Even if Byakuya was being both patronizing and unreasonable.

"Then what are you saying?" he demanded, just wanting a little support rather than an aura of complete and utter denial.

"You may be... misinterpreting the facts," Byakuya breathed into his neck, moving his mouth to nibble on the skin there.

Ichigo huffed. And tilted his head away.

"You have an idea in mind, and you are reinterpreting the circumstances to fit that particular belief."

Ichigo's jaw dropped. "That's just another fucking way of saying I'm imagining things, just in prettier words." He turned away then, unwilling to listen to it any longer. "Fine. But if I get trampled by a random herd of cows in the next few days, no sex for a year."

"A herd of cows?" Byakuya's voice held a note of incredulity.

"It doesn't make any less sense than the other stupid shit I'm _imagining_," Ichigo all but snarled and flicked his hand through the air, well aware that he was causing a scene. "And while I'm at it, no anything else either. No kissing. No cuddling. No hand-holding. In fact, no touching! _Nothing!_ How's that for losing my mind?"

He whirled on his heels with the last proclamation and went out the door. Anger blazed in his veins as Ichigo stalked down the corridor, fully intending to leave the Kuchiki manor as it made him quite twitchy. Who knew what enemy lurked around the corner, just waiting to trip him or impale him or accidentally spill boiling hot water on him or set him on fire with a candle or any other number of mundane things that had the capacity to kill him? Purely by accident, of course. Since the Kuchiki would never stoop so low as to take the blame for _purposeful _homicide.

Byakuya didn't chase after him, which was probably a good thing because Ichigo was seriously considering violence of his own. He had thought, of all people, that his own boyfriend would believe him. Ukitake-san definitely did, but then, he'd been there for the whole cup-melting incident. Kenpachi believed him because he'd been the one to help Ichigo get out of Rukongai. The geta-boushi believed him because he'd identified the ninja darts… and kept a few for safekeeping.

But Ichigo couldn't even convince Byakuya that he wasn't losing his mind. It frustrated him to no end.

Ichigo stopped in the middle of the street then, a new annoyance growing inside of him. In fact, he was pissed. Byakuya hadn't gotten nearly the tongue-lashing he deserved.

He whirled around yet again, stalking back towards the manor. Only to halt in stunned surprise, catching sight of his lover leaving through a side entrance. Purpose in every step. Where in the world was Byakuya going on his day off? A day that they had intended to spend together?

Ichigo's eyes narrowed, and without a second thought, he set to follow Byakuya, beyond curious. He was too angry to wait and simply ask for an answer. And so, shielding his reiatsu to the best of his abilities, Ichigo trailed along at a safe distance. Wondering if Byakuya would have ever known that his help in training Ichigo would come back to bite him on the ass.

The manors grew more elite, and Ichigo could tell that he was garnering quite a few disapproving stares. It didn't help that he had the feeling he headed into deeper noble territory, which worried him just a twinge. After all, wasn't it the nobles who were trying to kill him? He'd have to be on his guard.

He followed Byakuya to one of the larger and more ornate buildings, the nameplate answering all the questions Ichigo carried. _Kuchiki_. So much for Byakuya not really believing him. Why else would he come here?

Ichigo scowled, taking up a position across the street where he could watch the gate. He would wait for Byakuya to emerge and demand answers then. His eyes tracked over the large structure, practically screaming old money and affluence. Places he had never been very comfortable at or inside.

Time crawled, the sun passing overhead and making Ichigo sweat, pulling at his collar to relieve the stifling heat. People passed by, wrapped in their fine robes, and tossed occasional disgusted glances at him. Ichigo just offered a scowl in return. He wasn't leaving until Byakuya came out.

Which coincidentally, he happened to be doing at this exact moment. Ichigo rose to his feet, swiping a hand over his sweaty forehead, effecting a lazy stride as he moved to intercept his lover.

"Didn't believe me, huh?" he said, the moment the captain came into view and causing Byakuya to nearly startle in his surprise. "Just imagining things?"

Byakuya worked his jaw, unwilling to immediately admit defeat. "Perhaps things were worse than I initially believed, but the matter has been dealt with I assure you."

Ichigo snorted. "We'll see. As for me, I'm not drinking or eating anything that I haven't made myself anytime soon." He fell into line beside Byakuya, who looked to be beginning a slow trek back towards his own home. "As well as avoiding jaunts into Rukongai, windowsills, and long stairs."

"I have been informed that you had best avoid the Seikaimon for the next few days as well," the older male added softly.

"_What?_" Ichigo was embarrassed to admit that the sound leaving his mouth had better resembled a squawk than an actual word.

Byakuya slanted his eyes at him, a touch of apology in his gaze. "It is a good thing you weren't planning to do so anyway."

A low growl escaped Ichigo's lips, only to die on the end of a resigned sigh. "Your grandmother's a piece of work," he muttered but held a hand out anyway, capturing Byakuya's wayward fingers.

He could tell that the captain was startled by the move, considering Ichigo's proclamation of earlier. Let him consider that the teen's silent appreciation for a much deserved gesture.

"Midoriko-sama still trusts in outdated times," Byakuya conceded, his way of admitting that Ichigo's frank assessment of her character was rather accurate. "She understands now, however, and that is all that matters." His fingers gave a squeeze in return.

Feeling a bit mischievous, Ichigo tugged them back, eyes glancing around briefly before turning towards Byakuya. He leaned in for a kiss, lips gentle but warm. There was no one in immediate sight to witness the moment of affection, but he was certain some Kuchiki goon lingered in the shadows trailing them. Well, let them take that back to Miss-High-and-Mighty-Kuchiki-Sama and see what she had to say about it.

He ended the kiss, his mouth a few scant inches from Byakuya's. "Well, I suppose they won't try anything so long as I'm with you." He gave a playful nip.

"Oh?" Byakuya asked, trying and failing to conceal the interest in his tone.

Ichigo shrugged nonchalantly. "So I guess that means you'll be seeing a lot of me for the next few days." He guided the man into heading back towards his manor and out of sight of prying eyes.

"I'd like to see a lot of you right now" was his low and heated response. Grey eyes flickered over him, and Ichigo could just see his lover undressing him in his mind. Of course, the hand sliding beneath at his collar certainly helped that illusion, fingers warm and smooth against his neck and trailing ever downward.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, a touch of amusement pulling at his lips. "What is with you and those cheesy lines?" Not that they didn't work very well.

"I learned from the best," Byakuya replied, mouth so close to Ichigo's ear that his lips brushed skin.

Ichigo pretended to ignore that as he considered. "Who? That drunk guy? The one who always wears pink?"

"No, actually." Byakuya's hand slid down a bit further. "Ukitake-senpai."

"The guy who's dating your sister." Ichigo was incredulous, having thought Ukitake-san to be a bit smoother than that.

Byakuya's hand froze, a vaguely disappointed cast to his face, still not entirely pleased with that particular relationship. But not voicing his opinion for the sake of Rukia's happiness. Not to mention the fact that it kept her otherwise occupied and from prying into his own affair.

"Unfortunately yes," he commented, fingers resuming their wanderings.

Ichigo squeezed his hand, stepping back and giving him a tug. "Just think, soon you'll have him as a brother-in-law."

"He'll be yours as well," Byakuya reminded him smugly, allowing himself to be pulled along.

Ichigo let the comment fall by the wayside. "Is that a proposal, Kuchiki Byakuya-sama?"

It took a moment for him to reply. He was too busying running his thumb over Ichigo's knuckles. Not even bothering to pull away as they walked by several other people. Lips curling faintly at their nearly scandalous expressions and muted whispers.

"Small steps, Ichigo. Small steps."

Not an affirmation. But not a negative either.

Ichigo could live with that. For now.

* * *

a/n: Kyaaa, they're so adorable. I remember now why I enjoyed writing them so much. Which reminds me... it's time for another in the Ukitake/Rukia sidestory. Gotta work on that!

Well, I'll be back in December! And I'll come back with opening requests for a week and perhaps two chapters? We'll see what I can do.

I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!


	143. Take Me On The Floor

a/n: So I took a break from NaNoWriMo to bring you this brief update! I hope that you enjoy!

**Title: Take Me on the Floor**

**Pairings: Shunsui/Jyuushiro/Nanao**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: dirty dancing, lots of kissing, no dialogue **

**Words: 1984**

**Description: ****Here in the living world, Soul Society doesn't exist, and she's just a young woman who wants to have fun.**

**Dedication: To **_**darkangel11910**_**, who wanted a threesome with these characters.**

**Inspired by the **_**Veronicas**_** song by the same name. **

* * *

Flashing lights. The pulse of the crowd. Bodies twisting here and there, bumping into strangers but no one really caring because that's the whole point. Music throbbing on the floor, in the air, surrounding her.

It's not a place that Ise Nanao usually frequents. But once, days back, she had been convinced to visit, and now, it's a guilty pleasure for her. Dropping her Shinigami garb, stepping into some slinky, skin-baring number, and creeping onto the floor. Hair loose and wild, glasses exchanged for contacts, her own body swaying to the beat, garnering looks of appreciation from men she'll never see again. That's part of the allure.

When the night ends, she can go back to being rule-following, stern Ise-fukutaichou. But right now, she's in the moment. She's free.

The music explodes, getting louder if at all possible, and Nanao twists to the right, throwing her hands in the air. Someone steps her direction, a possible leer on his lips. She rakes her gaze across his appearance, deems him acceptable, and invites him in for a dance without any words.

Sweat paints her body, and the club smells like a mixture of people and smoke and fruity drinks, but she doesn't mind. It smells of freedom to her.

Hands skate up her sides, and she pushes back, grinding against her partner. His touches are fleeting, hesitant but they still guide her to the music. She surprises him by turning and throwing an arm over his shoulder, body moving to a beat completely unconsciously. He leers and says something, but the words are lost to the music and the crowd. Nanao shakes her head. She isn't interested in conversation.

Someone else wanders her direction, trying to entice her into switching partners. Fingers ghost teasingly across the nape of her nape, sending shivers down her spine. Nanao turns to meet this new prospect, only interested in having fun, when her eyes catch grayish-green ones across the dance floor.

She freezes in place, briefly losing rhythm, at the easygoing smile turned her direction. He couldn't... Why is he... What is he...

Stuttered questions want to fall from her lips, but she is speechless as he easily follows the sway of the crowd, making his way to her side. Her face burns, her fingers tucking a stray strand of hair self-consciously behind her ear. He shakes his head, reaching to let it loose and free as it has been.

He looks handsome, something she has always noticed in the back of her mind but refused to let her conscious readily admit. Otherwise, she knows she'll follow under the same spell as countless other females, and Nanao has never wanted to be among the unnumbered and unremembered. Besides, he is her captain, and those sort of things never work out. She's read enough Psychology to know and understand that.

Her other dance partners have vanished back into the fray, and she stands in the middle of the floor, utterly perplexed. Until Kyoura-- No, she should call him Shunsui here, she knows he wouldn't have it any other way. Until Shunsui takes her hand and skillfully twists her to the beat.

She doesn't think. Here, she isn't a vice-captain, and if she wants, he doesn't have to be a captain. Alcohol warms her belly, loosens her lips, and she smiles saucily and breaks away briefly to show him her own skills. Best not to let him think he caught her so easily. She sees when the chase enters his eyes, and a thrill trips down Nanao's spine.

The music shifts, changes to something smooth and sultry, worthy of a tango but still a faster beat. She's been here often enough that she knows what it is now, a remix of a classic song. The rhythm burns in her veins, and she whirls to the beat. Unable to stop the grin as Shunsui joins her, the moves in perfect counterpart. Garnering several appreciative stares.

Her cheeks heat when his hands skip a path down her bare arms. The side of his leg nudges briefly against the outside of her thigh. He drags a hand through her hair, and her hand skitters down the planes of his chest.

Shunsui grabs one of her hands, twirling her into his arms, and she is pressed against him, able to smell his scent. Something smoky and woodsy, intoxicating. Nanao sucks in a deep breath and feels the vibrations and heat of his body against hers. It's all too easy to get caught up, and she forces herself to remember that this _didn't happen_. When the morning comes, she will be Ise-fukutaichou – Nanao-chan – and he will be Kyouraku-taichou. No matter what he might try to say.

He nuzzles against the side of her face, lips skating down the side of her neck, and a low sound escapes from her lips. She twists out of his arms, not ready to play the captured prey just yet. And turns to smile saucily, when she bumps into another.

An apology on her lips, Nanao glances over her shoulder, and feels her body seize up again. Shunsui is chuckling, saying something along the lines of the other being late, but Nanao's too busy staring to really hear it. Where Shunsui is handsome, he is beautiful and very effectively making her feel plain in comparison. Frumpy in her Matsumoto-bought-and-gifted dress. While she can believe Shunsui's random appearance here, she finds it harder to reconcile Ukitake Jyuushiro.

She wonders if they've planned this.

Smile gentle, eyes dark and soft, Ukitake-- No, he should be Jyuushiro as well. He would insist on it with that light but commanding voice of his. Jyuushiro holds out his hand to her, silently asking for a dance, and Nanao doesn't even hesitate. At least, he won't play with her heart; this she is sure.

Besides, in the morning, everything will return to normal.

Shunsui makes a comment, something to the effect of the lover-boy stealing his date, but Jyuushiro tosses him an amused look and twirls Nanao into his arms. He smells delicious, too. Sharp like a thunderstorm but sweet like candy. She wants to bury her fingers in his white hair, having always wondered if it is as soft as it looks.

Jyuushiro's hand settles on her hip, helping the both of them sway to the same beat. She grinds up against him, a part of her thrilled by knowing that Shunsui is watching. She feels like someone else here – someone bold and beautiful, sexy – and it feels wonderful.

She throws her head back in time with the beat, and Jyuushiro's elegant fingers trail down her throat.

A warm body presses against hers from behind, and she knows that scent, that warmth. He whispers something in her ear, something about sharing, and Nanao just nods numbly. The music is pulsing in her ears, through her veins. She can feel the bass in her chest, through the floor, past her heels, and into her feet.

They dance together – pretending to be three strangers who have simply met in the club and not occupational associates. Hands flittering across bared skin. Sweat glittering her body. Three different shades of hair. Shunsui presses against her from behind, and Jyuushiro expertly guides her from one turn of the dance to the next.

And then, Shunsui reaches past Nanao, one hand curling in white hair and pulling Jyuushiro to him. She can only gape as they kiss, right there above her, lips touching and tongues tangling, making low heat pool in her belly. She's heard the rumors, she's seen the way they behave together, but never in her wildest dreams would she have thought to actually witness the truth.

She is staring, and other people are staring too because how can they not? It's the hottest thing she's ever seen. These two beautiful, powerful men kissing like that.

It seems to last forever, but it's really only a brief kiss. Nanao's eyes are wide, breath caught in her throat. She thinks that maybe she's the one interrupting here, and well, she has the rest of her night to enjoy. No need to get in between them, even if a part of her – most of her – wouldn't mind lingering.

She squirms, and that's enough for their attention to return to her. She can feel Shunsui's gaze on her, his hands settling on her hips gently. Not keeping her there but asking softly if she won't leave just yet. And Jyuushiro's hand lands on her chin, finger stroking gently. She looks up, and his mouth descends, covering hers, tasting of something sweet and fruity like his scent. Probably whatever alcohol he has had here.

She melts, wishing there were a better word to describe her reaction but having to settle for the classic melting. There's no other way to say that her knees refuse to hold her up, and that heat flushes her entire body. She moans into his mouth, Jyuushiro kissing with the skill only a thousand years of living can grant someone. And Shunsui's fingers are still on her, stroking, petting, encouraging.

Nanao wonders how she could have possibly become so lucky to be caught between the two. One hand twines around Jyuushiro's neck, trying to stop him from pulling back. Wanting to deepen, darken, _more_. And he obliges, tongue tangling with hers in a way that reminds her of his kiss with Shunsui.

Warm breath on her neck. A hand helpfully sweeping aside locks of dark hair. Lips skating down her bare skin, swirling in the dip between neck and collarbone. Nibbling on a bared shoulder. She feels the rasp of a beard against her skin, and Nanao shivers, prickles racing up and down her spine.

She knows that this could be – in some way – a Very Bad Idea. But that's only if she's Ise-fukutaichou, she reminds herself. Here in the living world, Soul Society doesn't exist, and she's just a young woman who wants to have fun.

Nanao reaches out and drags her fingers down Jyuushiro's chest, letting her painted nails rasp the front of his shirt. She tilts her head to the side, giving Shunsui more of an invitation. She takes off her inhibitions and grinds them beneath her four-inch heels. It is only one night, she reminds herself, letting the music flow through her.

Jyuushiro takes her hand, and they exchange a glance. He asks without words, and she answers with a flirty toss of her hair. Shunsui's fingers slide down the side of her slinky dress, also a silent query. And she drops her free hand, grabbing his own to bring it up to her mouth, pressing her lips against the strong pulse of his wrist. An equally silent answer.

They lead her from the dance floor, all three incurring envious looks, and she follows along because she wants to. She steps into a warm, spring evening and slides into the backseat of a cab with Jyuushiro and Shunsui. Touches are flirtatious and promising, and though her heart threatens to break free from her chest, Nanao has never been this sure. Her mind doesn't change during the cab ride. The walk to the room. The sight of the large, decadent bed. The waiting tray of wine and sweets. The first kiss from Shunsui and the elegant fingers that dip under the strap to her dress, pulling it off to the side.

And in the morning, finding her clothing amongst other scattered bits belonging to two very different men, she doesn't regret a thing.

* * *

a/n: Whew. That was hot. *fans self* I have to say, it's one of my absolute favorites. It came to me all in a rush. Oh yeah. And there's a sequel. *grins* You really think Shunsui and Ukitake are going to let her get away with just _one_ night?

Back to the novel, 37,000 words and counting...

a/n: There will be a sequel. Count on it. *grins*


	144. Anthem of Our Dying Day

a/n: Okay, so this one hit me out of nowhere when I was stuck in a writing funk and I wrote it in like the space of ten minutes. It is one of my ABSOLUTE FAVORITES. Like in the top ten. Seriously. The effect is even better if you listen to the mentioned songs while reading. It will tear your heart to pieces (or maybe that's just me 'cause I wrote it).

Anyways, I take a break from NaNo because I am inspiration-less to bring you this! Enjoy!

**Title: Anthem of Our Dying Day**

**Characters: Aizen/Urahara**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: boysmut, violence, spoilers, character death, angst**

**Words: 1860. **

**Description: The betrayal you can see is trivial. What is truly fearsome is the betrayal you don't see. **

**Dedication: For **_**RadicalEd57**_**, who wanted this pairing.**

**Inspired by "It's Not Over" by **_**Daughtry**_**. Title was taken from a song by **_**Story of the Year**_**. **

* * *

The sword whips through the air. Kisuke feels his feet locked in place. Try as he might, he can't seem to get them to move. He can only watch.

Blood falls, dripping to the ground. A building dissolves into nothing as a powerful attack rips through it. Crimson clashes against soft blue. And beyond it all, brown eyes look over everything dispassionately.

This is the end that he has wrought. This is what Sousuke wants.

Kisuke can't seem to make himself move. There's something pulling and tightening inside his chest, gripping where it refuses to let go. It rises to the forefront of his mind, flashing across the back of his eyes. Too many images for him to ignore. Too many memories and too much pain.

"_So you're Urahara-taichou." _

_He turns to see the lieutenant of the fifth behind him. Kisuke smiles in greeting. _

"_Evening, Aizen-fukutaichou. I could have sworn we were formally introduced once upon a time." _

_Those eyes, shaded by thick and clunky glasses, met his stare evenly. "Formally, yes. Informally, no." He bows softly, leaving Urahara to politely return the gesture, before offering him a hand. "You wouldn't happen to be free tonight?" _

"_Oh?" Kisuke asks with a tilt of his head._

_Aizen's fingers are soft, despite what must be years of swordwork, and the hand lingers longer than seems proper. An even more understanding __**"oh" **__reverberates through Kisuke's being. _

"_I might happen to be," he adds a second later. _

_And Aizen-fukutaichou smiles. _

He's not smiling now. In fact, Kisuke isn't sure what to call the expression on Sousuke's face.

Victory?

It shouldn't be, but perhaps it is.

Judging by the destruction, by the bodies that lie in various states of injury around him, maybe Sousuke already thinks he holds his victory. Trampling over the corpses of his loyal Espada. Paying no mind to the former allies he has dispassionately watched fall.

Kisuke finds it incredibly difficult to reconcile the person before him now and the man so bright and consuming in his memories.

_Hot kisses trail down his throat, and Kisuke gasps. His fingers dig deeply into Sousuke's back as the vice-captain pushes against him again. _

"_Ah, harder," he urges, body surging forwards to further prove his demand. _

_Sousuke chuckles. And the low sound echoes in the room and pours into Kisuke's ears like auditory sex. _

"_Any harder and I might break you, my dear." _

_It doesn't sound so bad, the blond thinks to himself. But all that emerges is another moan as Sousuke's lips cover his, muffling the sound. Kisuke shoves his tongue hungrily into the brunet's mouth, and their tongues engage in a hearty duel. The vice-captain tastes of honey and lemon, both flavors in that tea he's always drinking, and Kisuke fears that he's drowning in that familiarity. _

It is that familiarity which left Kisuke so blind. He hadn't been able to see it. He never saw Sousuke for his true face. Perhaps the man had wanted him to. Maybe he had been subtly trying through the length of their relationship. And maybe Kisuke had been too caught up to even notice the signs.

The smell of ash and smoke tastes so bitter on his tongue. Kisuke doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget the bitter, copper stench of blood. His chest squeezes, reiatsu swamping the area with a force so powerful he still doesn't know how he's standing. Benihime rattles at his side, desperate to join the fight, and Kisuke watches.

He doesn't move, just watches as another falls. As Shunsui struggles to pull himself to his feet and Yamamoto's fire burns away another illusion. No one can see Sousuke for his true position, but unerringly, Kisuke's eyes find him every time. Or maybe it's not even his eyes that can see it. Maybe it's something else entirely.

_Glasses clink together, the joy of the evening permeating the entire atmosphere. Kisuke grins as he downs the first shot and feels the pleasant burn. _

"_Happy birthday!" his friends chorus around him._

_But Kisuke's eyes are only for Sousuke, who is both patient and indulgent as he sits beside the twelfth division captain. _

_And beneath the table, Kisuke feels their fingers briefly clasp, a promise for something later. As the others in front of him exchange jokes and more alcohol is passed around the table, the brunet leans in close. His breath is a warm brush across Kisuke's ear that makes him shiver. To anyone observing, it would just look as if Sousuke is nearing to combat the noise level. It seems innocent. _

_Only Kisuke knows the truth. Especially when Sousuke's lips brush against his ear ever so lightly, making a low heat pool in his belly. _

"_I left your present in your quarters." _

_Kisuke drinks deeply from his bowl, hoping to blame the heating in his cheeks on the alcohol. It also helps to conceal his lips. _

"_Then I'll have to make an excuse to skip out on the party early, now won't I?" _

_He is treated to another of Sousuke's smiles, the kind that turns up his lips and makes his eyes sparkle behind those glasses. He draws back, putting a proper distance between them, one that can't be misconstrued as anything else. The promise remains in his expression though, and Kisuke looks eagerly forward to tonight. _

Reiatsu swirls around him, cloaking his body in his own power. He rises in the air before he entirely realizes what he's doing. His eyes are for Sousuke alone, paying no mind to the struggles of the Shinigami around him. Their faces have blurred to him, becoming nameless. He knows they are allies. Some even friends. And few of them are Vizard, those with equal stakes to his.

Kisuke sees none of them.

He focuses on the Sousuke that he is certain is the true one and not a fake reflection of the overlord. He can't explain how he knows. At his side, Benihime rattles, and Kisuke feels her hilt in his hands before he remembers drawing her. The swelling within him increases and knocks at the bonds of bone.

Broad shoulders… oh so familiar. Brown hair that waves in the wind, not quite the same style but still similar. Reiatsu that floods over Kisuke's entire being, much more powerful than he remembers but still familiar. His heart tries to shove him back to a golden past, but all his mind remembers is one bathed in crimson.

_Sousuke stands there like an entirely different person as the wounded bodies of __their allies – __**their goddamned friends! **__–__ paints the ground a garish shade. He defends Kisuke's attack so easily, as if swatting away a nuisance. Just a fly buzzing around his head. _

_Kisuke doesn't recognize him. He doesn't know this man at all. Doesn't recognize the dark eyes or the soft brown hair._

_His gaze unerringly finds Hiyori's battered form before they return to Sousuke. The words that pass between them are inconsequential compared to the feeling that tears through his entire being. _

_And Kisuke just stands there as Sousuke lies, betraying everything that they've shared. Dismisses it as though it is nothing. And perhaps it is. Maybe it is an illusion like everything else. He doesn't move, doesn't think to move, until Tessai yells at him. And the two differing kidoh clash in a dazzling display of sheer power. _

_When the lights fade and the power diffuses, there is nothing but empty space before them. Nothing marks where Sousuke had stood, cruelly betraying __**everything**_.

Benihime sings as she stabs through the air, faster than Kisuke can think and faster than anyone realizes his presence. The white back in front of him doesn't remain white long as crimson spreads across the pristine fabric, like a scarlet flower in snow. And Kisuke's fingers tremble around the hilt. His whole body shakes. And he can't tell if his vision is blurring because of the pain or if it's another reason entirely. Kisuke doesn't even know if it's anger anymore or sadness. The feel of his soul shattering.

His zanpakutou slides free with a sickening sound, audible even above the noise of battle, not that Kisuke hears it anymore. To him, there is nothing but silence as Sousuke gradually turns, his startled gaze falling on Kisuke. More blood paints the front of his outfit – the complete opposite of a Shinigami's black.

There is surprise there. And yet... not surprise, too. Expectancy. As though he has been waiting for this.

Around them, the illusions vanish, and the surprised Shinigami are left swinging at empty air before realizing there is no enemy to fight. And dark eyes are locked on Kisuke as Benihime dangles loosely in his grip, blood dripping down with a sound that never happens because the ground is so far below them.

"Kisuke." His voice is stronger than it should be for the hole in his belly.

"Don't call me that," Kisuke returns.

And he is horrified by the tightness in his voice. By the feeling that grips his vocal cords and squeezes his lungs until he's gasping for breath for a reason he can't comprehend.

"You have no right to call me that. Not anymore."

The words aren't what he wants to say, but he keeps the truth locked inside of him anyway. He wants his secret to remain a secret, now and forever. Kisuke wants – no, _needs_ – for it to end like this.

Sousuke lifts a hand, and Kyouka Suigetsu isn't even in his grip. Kisuke can't remember him dropping her, but his eyes refuse to leave Sousuke's face to check. Reiatsu surges as the Shinigami surround the two of them, clinging to life, desperate to end this war. There's no escape for Sousuke, and even he knows it.

The injury is critical but not life-threatening. It won't immediately kill him, but he'll die if he's not treated. Kisuke knows better than to expect the Shinigami to rush to take care of the wound. Not with all the death and destruction Sousuke has wrought. No, they are planning to deal the final blow here and now.

The hand stops inches before Kisuke's face, but the gesture is all that's necessary in the end. Kisuke doesn't move, towards or away from Sousuke's fingers, even if every fiber of his being seeks to close the gap. Once again, he's paralyzed.

"It wasn't an illusion," Sousuke murmurs, those brown eyes softening for just a second.

And in an instant, something inside Kisuke snaps. He can't call what emerges from his lips a scream, but he isn't sure what it is either. Whatever those emotions are churning inside of him, they erupt until something in his chest explodes with the tension. One foot slides forward, and Benihime lifts, slashing through the air quicker than anyone can follow. Faster than anyone can stop him.

He isn't even sure he's hit his target through the blurring in his eyes. And Kisuke can't breathe; he's choking on air. He only knows the harsh smell of blood and the bitter taste of betrayal. He only knows the last glimpse of dark eyes that in his madness seem ringed by clunky, outdated glasses and brushed by loose strands of brown hair. He only sees a smile that's genuine. Only hears words that whisper ever so softly in his ear in the dead of night when he is presumed asleep and no one else is listening.

"_Only you."_

* * *

a/n: So.... there will definitely be a sequel. Because I can't leave this one here like this. There's too much wonderful angst to explore! In fact, the sequel is attempting to worm it's way into my NaNo writings. Grrrrrr.

Hope you liked! I shall return fully soon!


	145. A Not So Subtle Seduction

**Title: A Not So Subtle Seduction**

**Characters: Gin/Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Crackity crack… oh, how it burns, boykisses**

**Words: 2788**

**Description: Sequel to **_**What the Fox Dragged In (And Subsequently Kept). **_**The seduction begins, and for Ichigo, escape is not an option.**

**Dedication: For **_**DirtyGirl42**_** who wanted a Gin/Ichigo.**

* * *

Ichigo supposed he should be grateful that they were no longer locking him in Ichimaru's bedroom. Aizen had apparently chastised his subordinate that pets required space to roam and would go stir-crazy if trapped in the same space. Not that outside the room was any more interesting. Just miles and miles of white. White walls. White floors. White clothes on crazy Arrancar. White, white, white.

Ichigo was really starting to hate white.

Oh, wait there went a splash of blood. Red then. Must be all that remained of another one of Nnoitra's victims. He had a seriously bad temper. The only one who seemed immune to Nnoitra's nastiness was Tesla, and he got smacked around just like the others. That guy had a serious case of masochism if one asked Ichigo.

Which no one did. After all, he was a prisoner here. And he was being stalked by his captor. Who, by the way, was Ichimaru Gin.

He really didn't look like a prisoner. At least, on the outside. He wore the same trappings as everyone else. White with a hint of black here and there and a pale blue sash, an outfit that had obviously been designed with his bankai in mind. He supposed it shouldn't have been too hard for someone to emulate it. What with the way he went tearing through everything and diving into bankai in any given situation. But that's beside the point.

He hadn't seen Zangetsu in weeks. But Ichigo was sure his zanpakutou was around here somewhere. He just _knew_ that Ichimaru was hiding him. And he'd yet to cajole, bribe, or convince the ex-captain to return him. Ichigo supposed that making demands and uttering curses at his captor probably wasn't helping the situation.

And his new accessory was no fun at all. Ichigo frowned, lifting up his arm and looking again at the thin, flexible bracelet encircling his wrist. It didn't look like much of anything really. But he knew it was part of the reason Ichigo couldn't just shunpo out of Hueco Mundo. Apparently, his lack of ability to control his reiatsu was not only an escape risk but a problem to the others who resided in Las Noches. Thus the low-grade limiter, courtesy of the fluttery eighth Espada.

Ichigo would like to say that he was really, supremely furious. But that emotion had bled out several weeks ago to a tired sort of resignation. And now, he saved most of his energy for the largest task of hand, not falling prey to Ichimaru's manipulations. His very obvious and distinct seduction.

A scowl twisting his lips, Ichigo turned down a random hallway – he was always getting lost in this damn place. Inevitably, someone was sent to find and fetch him. A task no Arrancar really wanted but did anyway because sometimes they were more afraid of Ichimaru than Aizen and that was just strange.

But then, a hand came out of nowhere, smacking him across the ass. To Ichigo's credit, he managed not to yelp. Only jumping about three feet in the air before whirling to face the perpetrator. He needed just one guess.

"Ichimaru!"

"There ya are, Ichi-kun. I been lookin' everywhere fer ya," the man said, smile dancing on his lips as he folded his hands back into the sleeves of his robes.

Ichigo scowled and backed up against a wall, hiding his backside from Ichimaru's perverted grasp. It wasn't the first time he had been groped out of nowhere, and he doubted it would be the last. Ichimaru had this annoying tendency to pop out of shadows with no warning.

"Why?" he asked, though he had an inkling as to the reason.

Ichimaru crowded in on his personal space, looming over Ichigo with his greater height though his thinness helped detract from his intimidating aura. "Why else? I wanted ta be with ya!"

"Yeah, I sorta got that," Ichigo retorted.

He searched for an escape. But really, there was none. He was as subject to Ichimaru's whims now as he had been for the extent of his... residence here.

"But you know, my family is probably worried, and I really have this schoolwork I have to do..."

His voice trailed off as Ichimaru's grin widened, eyes slitting open to reveal the gleam of his irises beneath. Ichimaru lifted a hand, and it settled on Ichigo's hip, squeezing gently.

"What? Ya don' like it here?" Ichimaru asked. All pretend innocence and hurt, when really his intentions were pretty damn obvious.

Ichigo squirmed, wishing like hell he had Zangetsu and then wondering if it would even do him any good because Ichimaru was ten times stronger than he. It was pretty obvious in the subtle yet controlled thrum of the man's reiatsu, always beneath the surface. The scent of the former captain washed over him, oddly smelling of muffins. Blueberry ones like Yuzu used to make.

Ichigo's brow furrowed at the incongruity of it. "Muffins?" he stated in confusion, rather than the "get the hell away from me" that should have poured from his lips. "Were you making muffins?"

"Just fer ya!" Ichimaru told him all too happily. And leaned in closer, his breath a puff over Ichigo's lips, reminding the teen that Ichimaru always made a habit of kissing him out of nowhere as well.

"Gin, please refrain from molesting your pets in the hallway." The voice trickled through the space between them, prompting Ichigo to sigh in relief and for Ichimaru to draw back a step.

Ichimaru shook his head and pouted at the evil overlord. "He's not a pet, Aizen-taichou!"

Aizen's returning look was allowing and with more than a hint of amusement. "I refuse to call him your concubine."

"He's my wife!" Ichimaru insisted, not removing his hands from their slow creep to the front of Ichigo's gifted white outfit.

And Ichigo squawked. "Wife? I'm not a--"

"You have to be married first, Gin. We've talked about this," Aizen commented patiently, lips quirking into a bemused smile.

Ichimaru practically purred, nuzzling the side of Ichigo's face. "I'm workin' on it. He's bein' stubborn."

The overlord radiated paternal amusement. "Well, work on it somewhere else, Gin. Good Espada are so hard to come by these days, and you're frightening them."

"Okay, Aizen-taichou!" Ichimaru chirped and grabbed Ichigo's hand without further ado, giving him a good yank as he moved down the corridor.

Ichigo could feel Aizen's eyes watching them, dancing with mirth, as he practically surrendered Ichigo to the whims of his lecherous subordinate. That man really was pure evil.

-------

Ichigo sank down into the heated water with a grateful sigh, one of the few ways he had found to chase away the lingering chill of Las Noches. He didn't know how the others handled it, though he supposed that explained why they wore so many layers. The nights were even worse, though Ichigo had been given a means to combat that entirely without his permission.

Who knew that Ichimaru Gin was like a furnace?

A faint flush stained Ichigo's cheeks. Not that he was particularly proud to have garnered that knowledge. But it was hard to be cold when he spent the night wrapped up in long, thin limbs and cuddled close like a giant stuffed animal.

Ichigo sighed again, dropping down until only his face from the nose up was free from the water. He watched steam rise, silence surrounding him. Bath time was private time, and all the Arrancar had been warned not to step anywhere near when Ichigo was bathing.

Again, who knew that Ichimaru could be so possessive? Not even Stark, the least likely to molest him of the bunch, was allowed in there.

The door clicked open then, and Ichigo turned startled eyes towards it, body poised for flight. Except that a head ringed in silver popped inside, smiling instantly at the sight of him. The urge to flee did not fade, though Ichigo could feel the heat enter his cheeks. If it were possible, he scrunched even further down into the water.

"What happened to privacy?" Ichigo demanded as he shifted until his back was safely against the side of the pool. He felt exposed, despite the cover of steam.

And Ichimaru didn't seem to bothered by the fact that he strolled in wearing nothing more than a small towel around his waist, concealing all the important bits. He really was long and lithe, all lean muscle and pale skin. A few scars stood out brightly, starkly pink against his pallid shade.

"I brought bubble bath!" Ichimaru chirped at him, nonchalantly inviting himself inside and dropping down into the water. "I could scrub yer back fer ya, if ya want!"

"That's okay," Ichigo assured him, water sloshing as he felt his entire face and body heat up, all the way down to the tip of his toes. "I'm... yeah... I'm definitely done now."

He reached for the edge of the pool, ready to pull himself out, despite the soap that likely clung to his body still and his hair that desperately needed washing. He could always come back later. Or better yet, stick his head under a faucet.

"Suit yerself," Ichimaru said with a half-hearted shrug.

Ichigo told himself there definitely wasn't disappointment in the older man's expression. He pulled on a towel and escaped into the hallway, shivering all the while as he made his way back to their shared room. No matter how often he inquired, they wouldn't give him one of his own. Aizen had said something along the lines of pets needing to be looked after by their owners, and after that, Ichigo had stopped asking.

He supposed he should be flattered by the attention. Ichimaru practically lavished him in it and gifts. Rare books. Foods from the living world. Even a Playstation and a hefty assortment of games. Some items from his bedroom at home, though Ichigo didn't know how the traitor had accomplished that. And Ichimaru was a constant presence, talking to him, encouraging him, sparring with some hakudo since they wouldn't give him back his zanpakutou.

Breakfast in bed was a weekly occurrence and more welcome now that Ichigo had convinced Ichimaru not to do so naked. And the occasional moments of being serenaded by recitations of Shakespeare were flattering, especially since Ichigo had proven that Kama Sutra books just couldn't compare to the genius of the bard.

Ichigo was getting used to it all, and maybe that was the biggest problem. He didn't want to be used to it. He should be fighting harder to go back home to where he was supposed to be. He just knew that everyone was insanely worried, probably believing the worst of him. Though they couldn't possibly know the worst he faced was a stolen kiss or grope.

The teen sighed, raking a hand over his wet hair and sending a spray of water across the floor. A passing Arrancar he didn't recognize gave him a look, and Ichigo scowled, setting the woman into a fleeing trot.

Back in their shared room, he scrubbed his towel over his head and threw on some clothes, remembering that he'd left half of them back in the bathing rooms. Well, perhaps it would be safer to return later.

Sighing, he dropped down on the bed, feeling just a bit bored. He contemplated his Playstation, but even that didn't seem appealing to him. He still remembered that faint look of disappointment in Ichimaru's eyes.

Ichigo raked a hand through his hair, trying to dispel his thoughts, when his gaze fell on an envelope on the bedside table. He wouldn't have paid much else attention to it, except that his name was on the front. Considering it his, Ichigo grabbed the item and opened, unfolding the piece of paper kept within. His hands shook as he recognized the familiar penmanship. It was a letter from his sisters, though how Ichimaru had gotten it – because it had to have been Ichimaru – was a mystery to him. The latest in a long line of gifts, Ichigo could only think that this was the best one.

They were worried about him, but they trusted him to be strong enough to take care of himself. Goat-Face was still acting like an idiot, and Chad and Inoue visited nearly every day. Urahara-san was making plans to find him, but otherwise, they wanted him to be strong. To not worry about them, that they would be fine.

"Ichi-kun?"

Ichimaru stepped into the room as Ichigo read the last of the letter, emotions swirling about inside of him in a confusing tangle. He was glad to have received it, though he wondered why Ichimaru would bother. He was just a prisoner, wasn't he?

"Ah, ya got yer letter I see." His usual smile was there, but a hint of caution was in his voice. "Like it?"

Ichigo numbly nodded, carefully folding the paper back up and sliding it into the envelope. He returned it to the small table, one that had been designated as his and his alone. It housed some of his belongings, mostly gifts that Ichimaru had given him during the length of his stay in Las Noches.

"Yeah. I do actually," he replied after a moment. "Thanks. How'd ya do it?'

Ichimaru grinned, plopping down on the bed next to him and dropping his towel from over his silver hair to hang across his shoulders. "I have special powers. Like a ninja. Soifon ain't got nothin' on me."

Ichigo stared at him. "As stupid as that sounds, I think I believe you."

The ex-captain chuckled and leaned over, laying his head against Ichigo's shoulder in a move that should have surprised him but really didn't. Ichimaru smelled clean, like pomegranate and mango, oddly enough. And his hair tickled at the side of Ichigo's neck.

"When are you going to let me go?" Ichigo questioned because it was something he did every night. And even though he'd yet to receive a decent answer, he continued to ask. Besides, it was sorta hard to be violent with a man who acted as cheerful as Ichimaru did.

"We could spar tomorrow," his captor suggested instead, avoiding the query as always. "I might even be convinced ta let ya have Zangetsu back fer a bit, ne?"

Ichigo perked up at the offer, though he recognized it for the peace offering it was. "Alright. Fine," he agreed because it was really boring sometimes and he was dying for something to break the monotony.

He fell back against the bed, bouncing once against the mattress. Just staring at the white, white ceiling. Everything so white. The walls. The floor. Everything.

Ichimaru didn't take his action for the escape it was. Instead following Ichigo down, snuggling against his side.

"Ichigo's so good ta me," he practically purred, sounding too thrilled by the situation.

"Yeah, whatever."

Ichigo snorted. He had already learned there really was no point in fighting. Besides, Ichimaru – stolen kisses and gropes aside – had never pushed for anything further. Which was more than he could say about some of his past admirers. Perhaps he hoped that Ichigo would eventually give in of his own accord one day.

A thin-fingered hand settled on his chin, turning his head to the side, and he was met by slitted red eyes. Ichigo waited, sure that this was another moment where Ichimaru was going to steal a kiss. He did it often enough that Ichigo was no longer fazed by them. He figured if that was all that ever came of it, fine by him since Ichimaru never pressed for anything more.

Except that Ichimaru did nothing but look at him. He didn't even speak. Just stroked his fingers over Ichigo's cheek and stared.

Ichigo squirmed, confused and a bit embarrassed. "Aren't you going to kiss me?" he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

"Is that an invitation?" Ichimaru returned, breath washing over Ichigo and smelling clean. Like vanilla mint toothpaste.

"No!" Ichigo quickly denied because that was how he really should feel about the situation after all.

He looked away, and in the back of his mind, he thought about the letter. Ichigo thought about the flash of disappointment he had caught from the older man. And he thought about the good treatment he had received all things considered. He was a captive true, but thanks to Ichimaru, he wasn't being eaten alive by all the Espada and Arrancar during his weakened state.

Internally, he sighed.

"One," Ichigo muttered, barely loud enough for the other male to hear. And his eyes slid back to Ichimaru. "Just _one_."

The ex-captain smiled at him, a different sort than the face-splitting grins he usually shone Ichigo's direction. And he leaned forwards, crossing the space between them, bringing their lips together. Slow and soft, a meeting of mouths rather than a stolen gesture. Gentle and testing. Warm.

Ichigo didn't resist. Allowed fingers to stroke briefly over his cheek as the taste of Ichimaru washed over his senses. And just to himself, Ichigo thought that it really wasn't that bad.

Not bad at all.

* * *

a/n: Ah, what a slow but wonderful slide into Stockholm Syndrome. Poor Ichigo. Oh well. There's more to come in this series, so keep an eye out.

And I successfully completed NaNoWriMo at 81K! Huzzah! It's going to go through a round of editing and then I'll post some links to it for your pleasure.

I won't exactly return to my regularly scheduled updating, but they should at least come quicker. I've got a lot of fanficcy stuff to catch up on. Yikes.

Well, I hope you enjoyed!


	146. What Are You Looking For?

AN: This part was supposed to be in Ichigo's POV. But Grimmjow was louder, so he stole the show. *Glares*

Can't be helped, I suppose. Enjoy!

**Title: What Are You Looking For?**

**Characters: Ichigo/Grimmjow, Urahara, Renji, Rukia**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, language, light violence**

**Words: 3783**

**Arc: ****Sequel to _Anywhere but Here. _Fifth in Gravitation series. **

**Description: He's still here. He hasn't left yet. And Grimmjow can't understand why. **

**

* * *

**"_I recognize that I am damaged; I sympathize that you are too. I wanna breathe without feelin' so self-conscious, but it's hard when the world's starin' at you," "_What are You Looking For" by Sick Puppies

* * *

"Well, if it isn't my newest freeloader?"

Grimmjow freezes at the sound of that voice, somehow always sounding lewd to him. He swears up and down that the geta-boushi looks at him funny. Like he knows something Grimmjow doesn't. And he hates that stupid, ugly hat, too. It hides too much, and Grimmjow can't guess what he's thinking.

Turning, Grimmjow presses his back against the wall, caught in his attempt to stealthily sneak into the kitchen and obtain something to eat. It's been hours since the "fast food" that Kurosaki brought him, and his stomach is growling. Hell, at this point, he's considering Hollow-hunting, except that he can't really leave this place.

Dammit.

"Ya should talk to Ichigo 'bout that," Grimmjow returns warily. "He's the one that won't let me leave."

Urahara looks at him, his eyes shadowed by that stupid hat and making his intentions impossible to read. "I don't see any chains or shackles. Perhaps there's something else keeping you here," he hints, that damn fan fluttering in front of him and only half-concealing his face.

The Espada swears that the Shinigami-smelling shopkeeper is leering at him. And yeah, the blond doesn't look like one, but he stinks like a Shinigami. An exiled one probably. Or even retired. But Urahara is definitely Shinigami somehow.

"I could leave if I wanted," Grimmjow returns, squaring his shoulders. If Urahara thinks he knows Grimmjow, then he's sorely mistaken. "I just haven't yet."

"And why not?" Geta clack against the floor as he steps closer. And though they are the same height, the shopkeeper seems to loom over Grimmjow. "Have you fallen under dear Kurosaki-kun's spell as well?"

Stepping backwards to return the space between them, Grimmjow splutters. "I don't know what the hell yer talking about!" he says and feels the hair rise on the back of his neck. He doesn't like this creepy Maybe-Shinigami at all. "Ichigo's the freak that saved me. I didn't ask him ta do it."

The man laughs. "Yes, he does have a mind of his own. Strange how that works," he murmurs, that fan fluttering again as he continues to watch Grimmjow.

The Arrancar edges down the hallway and towards the safety of the underground basement. Feeling as if that bastard is stripping him down with those shadowed eyes. Fuck lunch. He can do without it.

"If ya want me out of here, just say it," Grimmjow says, hating that he's here by this man's grace and nothing else.

He doesn't want to admit that he has nowhere else to go, so he pretends that he does. That if he gets thrown out on his ass it's no big deal. And though that pretty thick wound on his chest itches, he ignores it. He can make it on his own. He's done a good job of it so far. He doesn't need anyone. Not this pervert and definitely not Kurosaki Ichigo.

"Now, Grimm-chan, whatever makes you think I'd be happy to be rid of your presence?" Urahara says in a near purr. He cocks his head to the side.

Warning bells ring in the back of Grimmjow's head. He's pretty sure that Urahara has something up his sleeve. Grimmjow has come to realize that the blond is a crafty bastard. It's why he avoids the man whenever possible.

"Ya certainly ain't celebratin' it."

Urahara chuckles, and somehow, the sound makes Grimmjow worried for his chastity. If he even has such a thing. Bright blue eyes narrow, but before he can speak, his gaze catches movement behind the shopkeeper. Stepping down the hall, Grimmjow recognizes a familiar face.

"Yo, Urahara-san," Abarai Renji greets and lifts a hand. He is wearing the black robes of a Shinigami, zanpakutou strapped at his side. Not that such a thing is any different from usual.

"Well, if it isn't my _other_ freeloader," Urahara says with an easy grin, turning to greet him. "Come for dinner again, Abarai-san?"

A flush stains the redhead's cheeks, but he shakes his head. "Actually, I thought Grimmjow might be up for a spar." His eyes shift to the Arrancar, carefully guarded and revealing nothing. "Are ya?"

"Che." He snorts. "These wounds're nothing."

The fan snaps shut as Urahara claps his hands together. "Play nice, boys! And maybe I'll have Tessai whip us all up dinner. Ne?"

Grimmjow watches the pervert warily. Unwilling to get any closer but seeing the escape of the trapdoor just behind him.

"Yeah whatever."

Luckily, Urahara is already moving past Renji, leaving Shinigami and Arrancar to their business. Keeping his sigh of relief internal, Grimmjow turns toward the basement, the pineapple-headed idiot on his heels. Still, he swears that he can hear a chuckle echo in the hallway behind them – Urahara laughing.

Grimmjow grits his teeth. "Bastard," he mutters under his breath.

"He's not so bad," Renji returns as he moves around him to lift up the concealing trapdoor. "Once ya overlook the perversions and invasions of personal space."

"He do that to everybody?" Grimmjow asks.

Renji thinks about it for a minute before he ducks his head, nodding. "Yeah, pretty much." Heat stains his cheeks as the door snaps open, and he rises to his feet.

Grimmjow snorts. "Che. Pervert."

And then, he realizes he's becoming _friendly _of all things with a Shinigami. He can't have that.

He says nothing else, dropping down into the basement with Renji right behind him. The sudden change from the dim interior of the shouten to the bright and _fake_ light of the basement makes Grimmjow momentarily wince. He can't say that he misses the darkness of Hueco Mundo though since he doesn't. There is something about that black sky that had always seemed so lonely to him. Though he will never admit that out loud to anyone.

"Ya ain't seen Ichigo, have ya?" he questions then, mostly because it seems weird to be here when the teen isn't. Grimmjow knows he doesn't belong here. But that's all Ichigo's fault to begin with, so what else is he supposed to do?

Renji looks at him with a strange, stupid expression. "Why?"

"Forget it," Grimmjow says, not wanting to answer the question because he isn't about to explain himself to some _Shinigami. _Even if said Shinigami had been one to help Ichigo in the first place. "Are we gonna spar or not?"

Drawing his zanpakutou, Renji huffs. "Spar," he mutters with an annoyed breath. "Impatient bastard. I shoulda just killed ya when I had the chance."

Smirking, Grimmjow draws his own blade, a part of him surprised that they allow him to keep it. But then, no one's ever mentioned that he's a prisoner or anything. He's free to come and go as he pleases. His fate is up to him. Too bad he doesn't know what he plans on doing with it.

"Why didn't you?" he counters, gradually loosening his hold on his reiatsu and letting it curl around him like a powerful cloak.

By the feeling of power rising in the air, Renji is doing much the same.

The redhead shrugs. And the motion seems nonchalant but even Grimmjow knows better than that.

"Ichigo didn't want ya dead."

In the end, it all comes back to him, doesn't it?

Eyes narrowing, Grimmjow avoids the line of conversation and darts forward with blade lifted. Renji isn't much of a challenge; he would rather be sparring with Ichigo. But the Vizard isn't here right now, and Grimmjow will take what he can get. Anything to distract him from the excitement his existence currently lacks. And especially from the lusty thoughts that occasionally intrude on his subconscious. Thoughts that usually involve Ichigo in some state of erotic disarray.

Their swords collide, and Grimmjow smirks when the force of his blow drives his opponent back a step. The Shinigami is quick to recover, however, And soon, they are trading skilled strikes, a familiar burn building its way through Grimmjow's body. This, at least, he can understand. The sound of blades clashing and the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

He twists, and his sword flashes out, cutting shallowly into Renji's side. With a muttered hiss, the redhead counterattacks. Grimmjow whirls to avoid and catches a small gash across the top of his arm. The smell of blood rises in the air, but they're not out to kill each other.

"Yer not so bad, Shinigami," Grimmjow taunts because he finds that his opponents make more mistakes when they are angry. Especially this one. "Not as good as Ichigo, of course. But you'll do."

Red flushes Renji's cheeks, a mix of anger and embarrassment. Grimmjow knows his type and isn't surprised when the redhead's attacks suddenly get more aggressive. Bolder.

"Shut up!" he snarls, zanpakutou whipping through the air. "I don't want to hear somethin' like that from someone who was only the sixth."

Grimmjow snorts. Throwing out rankings that don't mean anything anymore. If Renji thinks it's an insult, he's sorely mistaken.

Their blades crash and lock. Grimmjow meets eyes nearly the color of blood, finding that they are the same height, and counters with a feral grin. He drags his tongue over his lips, blood pumping through his veins.

"So tell me, Shinigami," he says, the exertion more than his body is ready to deal with so soon. Not that Grimmjow is going to stop or anything. "Which Espada was it you defeated? 'Cause I can't remember one."

He is amused by the fury that promptly colors Renji's face as the Shinigami growls in wordless fury. Grimmjow pushes forward with a violent shove, ready to end their deadlock. His fingers curl around his sword, and Renji shifts to counter.

"Renji?"

The redhead stumbles at the sudden sound of his name by a female voice, and Grimmjow's blade breaks through his guard. His sword slashes across Renji's shoulder, tearing through cloth and shallowly slicing into his flesh. Panting, Grimmjow pulls back. Pretty damn sure that killing Ichigo's friend is not in his best interest right now.

Cursing under his breath, Renji slaps a hand over the wound. He whirls to face the newcomer.

"Rukia!" he splutters, sounding like a child caught doing something very, very bad. "What're ya doing here?"

Bored, Grimmjow rolls his eyes and drags his sword back towards himself and inspects the blade. His fingers dance over the length of it, skipping briefly over the small cracks that haven't healed yet. Only proving the limits of his own body.

"I was looking for Ichigo," Rukia replies with a veiled threat in her eyes.

Grimmjow can practically feel the weight of her stare. It crawls over him, pinning right between his shoulder blades. He distinctly remembers shoving his hand through her chest once upon a time. That definitely explains the hostility. Well, that and the fact he's a Hollow and she's a Shinigami. The two are naturally inclined to hate one another. Still, he also recalls her trying to drown him in ice, so the feeling of hostility is mutual.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Rukia continues with a half-snarl, taking a step towards them. One hand rests on the hilt of her zanpakutou. "I thought he was _dead__!_"

Renji quickly sheathes his sword, running a hand over his hair with obvious nervousness. "Ichigo and I sorta found him in Hueco Mundo," he rushes to explain. "And things happened. We couldn't leave 'im ta die. So he's here."

"And you didn't _tell_ me?" A mixture of outrage and hurt clouds the woman's tone, not that Grimmjow really cares.

This argument doesn't concern him in the slightest. Let them have their little tiff. His stomach is growling with increased insistence, and if he doesn't get something to eat soon, he's going to hurt something. Preferably Ichigo for abandoning him here with a perverted shopkeeper and a bunch of stuffed animals that moved on their own.

Renji splutters and makes more excuses, apologizing profusely. Grimmjow ignores the both of them, already heading for the massive ladder to the exit. What is it with Shinigami and being pushed around by people half their size? He doesn't really get it, and he'd rather not stick around to find out the results of their little discussion.

Climbing up the ladder, the Arrancar peers around to ensure that the shopkeeper is nowhere in sight, scowling all the while. He sees neither stripe nor fan of Urahara and assumes that the man is off skulking somewhere else. Luckily for him. And Grimmjow hauls himself off the ladder and slams the trapdoor shut behind him. Better that than one of the brats falling down and injuring themselves, only to blame it on him later. He'd rather avoid that kind of issue.

Yawning, Grimmjow rakes a hand over his hair as he moves down the hallway. This kind of life doesn't suit him, he reminds himself. This kind of boring, humdrum existence where he does nothing but sit around and heal. But what else can he do? Where else can he go where he won't be hunted like a mad animal?

The shouten seems abandoned, meaning he won't run into anyone else who will possibly annoy him. A definite plus. And Grimmjow steps into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge, searching the stocked shelves for something quick and easy. His other hand lifts and rubs across his chest, where his scar is currently twitching with a light ache.

"It still hurts?"

Grimmjow startles at the sudden voice and whirls. The fridge slams shut behind him.

"Don't do that," he hisses, glaring furiously. "Does _everyone_ creep around here like a bunch of damn ninjas?"

Ichigo arches one brow at him from where he leans in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Scared were you?"

"Shut up," Grimmjow snaps. He really, really hates that brat. "When did you get here anyway?"

He wants to ask for food as well, but Grimmjow's not that weak. He won't beg Ichigo for anything. Not help. Not food. Not even the answers he can't seem to find.

"Just now." The Vizard smirks. "I just came to make sure you hadn't keeled over or anything. Figured you'd be pretty bored."

"Oh, you were thinkin' of me? How sweet," Grimmjow drawls, rolling his eyes.

He feels aggressive without really knowing why. He thinks if he can just prompt Ichigo into fighting with him, things might clear themselves up. He doesn't know what he's going to do with the brat.

He still remembers what happened a couple of days ago. Grimmjow still recalls the feel of Ichigo writhing against him, the warmth of Ichigo in his own fingers, and the heat of the teen's hand on his arousal. He wants to kiss Ichigo, of all things, and that most of all is what Grimmjow doesn't understand. He hates this brat.

Doesn't he?

Brown eyes look at him, as unreadable as everyone else in this damn place, and Grimmjow really hates that. At least in Hueco Mundo. it was pretty easy to tell what others wanted from him. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Fuck. Intrude on the living world to wreak a little havoc. Grimmjow never had to second guess things. Not like here. With Ichigo who should be his enemy but isn't anymore for reasons he can't even begin to comprehend.

It's like a puzzle. One where he's lost half the pieces and the ones he has left don't fit together with any sort of sense. No matter which way he turns them or tries to match up the patterns. He can't even see the big picture anymore. It's just a confusing jumble of images that don't form a whole.

Ichigo moves off the doorjamb. His hands fall to his side as he steps into the kitchen, directly into a spray of dappled sunlight that further conceals his expression.

"You never answered my question."

Grimmjow scowls and tears his gaze away, something strange gripping inside his chest and refusing to let go. "It's an old wound, Kurosaki. I'm not goin' ta die from it. Don't get yer panties in a twist."

More than an old wound. It's an injury that Ichigo gave him. Grimmjow deftly steers away from the implications involved by a simple scar, not wanting to think about what it might mean. Why he refused to let Szayel get rid it.

"Sometimes, it's the old wounds that hurt the most," Ichigo comments softly. Wistfully.

It's enough to make Grimmjow look over at him again, and there's a startled edge to Ichigo's movement as he shifts out of the sunlight and peers into the fridge. As though it is something Ichigo did not mean to say, something that slipped out of his mouth unintentionally.

The quiet that follows is not quite awkward, but it's not comfortable either. There's a sizzling expectation that remembers heated touches and frantic gasps. But there's also a thin line of tension that divides Grimmjow's uncertainty and Ichigo's nonchalance.

"Why did you bring me here?" Grimmjow demands, the question lacking the aggression he intended for it to carry.

Bottles clink, and things scoot around before Ichigo withdraws a couple of cans and tosses one to Grimmjow. He catches it, glancing briefly at the label, before his attention focuses back on his companion.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Ichigo answers with a shrug, popping open his drink with an echoing snick.

What the hell is his problem? Going on and on like nothing's changed. Acting like it's no big deal to pick up the first pathetic Hollow he could find and drag him home. Patching him up like it's his right. Rescuing him when he doesn't even want it, hasn't even asked for it!

His fist slams into the wall before he entirely knows what's happening, a crest of emotions threatening to explode from his chest. He's here, and he doesn't know why. He has nothing to do with himself but a debt to a fucking Vizard he doesn't even like.

Grimmjow snarls even as wood cracks beneath the blow. His voice emerges as a frantic hiss because he can't be certain that damn pervert isn't listening and no way in hell is Grimmjow airing his business to the world.

"Well, yer just carefree ain't ya?" He spits out the words, feeling his breath heave in and out of his lungs as something mad coils inside of him. "Doesn't matter that ya fucked a Hollow who's supposed to be your enemy, does it? Yer standards are pretty low these days, ain't they?"

Ichigo's drink hits the counter and slides a safe distance onto it. His brown eyes harden.

"The war's over. And last I remember, part of me is Hollow, too. The only one who seems to have a problem here is you." He closes the distance between them, stalking more like. And though he's shorter than Grimmjow, it doesn't feel like it. "I seem to remember you participating. Or did you forget I'm part Shinigami and human also?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know what the fuck you are?" Grimmjow counters with a growl, standing his ground. "I don't get a damned thing about you!"

Ichigo's hand snaps out and fists in Grimmjow's borrowed shirt. He braces himself, preparing to avoid the violent strike, glad that it's come to this. At least violence Grimmjow understands. Fighting and battle and blood and pain – he understands these. It's the other stuff – the kisses and soft looks and promises of friendship, of maybe even something more – that Grimmjow can't fathom.

He is jerked forward, and his foot slides across the floor. He prepares himself to fight back. Hands ball into fists, and his reiatsu lashes around his body like a wounded beast.

Ichigo's mouth falls over his, tongue darting into Grimmjow's mouth and tasting of whatever it was he'd been drinking. The Arrancar is stunned into immobility, instinct to fight floundering in the face of the intimate contact. Wobbling against the sudden urge to kiss back. To take his hands and wrap them around the brat's face. To pull him closer until there is no space between them.

The lack of violence is what startles him the most. Ichigo's lips move gently against his, tongue a soft stroke. And the tension in Grimmjow eases as he responds to the kiss, resisting the urge to cling that suddenly slides through his every nerve. What the hell is wrong with him?

The kiss ends, and Ichigo draws back. But still so near that Grimmjow can feel the puff of his lips.

"I don't understand it any more than you do," Ichigo says lowly, eyes dark with determination and something else entirely. "But I'm not so much of a coward that I'm going to run away because I don't get it."

"Che." Grimmjow reaches up, untangling Ichigo's hand from his borrowed shirt. "No one said I was runnin' away either." He slips out from being trapped between Ichigo and the wall, heart thumping inside his chest. "I'm still here, ain't I?"

Though he doesn't know _why_ he hasn't left yet. Why does he linger? Why is he still here? What is he looking for? What is he waiting for?

Something in Ichigo's face softens with understanding. But before he can speak, a noise in the doorway alerts the both of them to the presence of another.

"Ichigo! What the hell is going on!"

Grimmjow recognizes that voice. It's the ice-bitch again. Having finished scolding Renji, it seems she's set her sights on Ichigo now.

Sighing, Ichigo turns towards her, raking a hand through his hair. "Rukia, please don't start. It's complicated enough without the lecture."

Her hands plant on her hips. And her eyes dart between Grimmjow and Ichigo and the suspicious closeness she had intruded on.

"Don't start? When you're hiding an Espada in Urahara-san's shouten!"

"It's not like I'm doing it without his permission," Ichigo argues crossly. "The war's over, remember? We won. Let it go."

Rolling his eyes, Grimmjow turns his attention back to the fridge, stomach making quite the protest. Women can be so annoying. He realizes that Kuchiki's appearance prevented Ichigo from saying something important. And Grimmjow hates that the answer has been stolen from him.

He sneaks a glance at the Vizard over the top of the fridge door, Ichigo's face is twisted with annoyance as the ice-bitch runs her mouth. He's allowing it because they're comrades, and she's gotta be someone precious to him. Or something like that. Not that Grimmjow understands anything like that. There's nothing he holds that sacred. Nothing he would give himself to protect. Nothing at all.

So why is he still here?

* * *

a/n: And the oneshot because a two shot becomes a fourth shot becomes a fifth shot and yeah, there will be a sixth in the series. I'm also contemplating an associated series that is another pairing that sort of jumped out at me after writing and editing this piece. Read into it enough and you might be able to guess it. *grins*

I'm still not the biggest fan of this pairing, but it is growing on me. More to come!

Thanks for reading!


	147. Rukia's Dating Service Aizen Take Two

**Title: Rukia's Dating Service – Aizen Sousuke (Take Two)**

**Characters: Aizen/Ichigo, Rukia, Matsumoto, Yumichika, Shuuhei**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: mild boy love, lecherous thoughts, language, crack like whoa, introducing Pervert!Aizen  
**

**Words: 3,559**

**Description: For all his power and wit, vanilla is one temptation Sousuke can't resist. **

**

* * *

****a/n: These are getting increasingly cracky. I hope you don't mind. -grins-  
**

* * *

"Alright, troops! Can I count on you this time?" Rukia demanded, raking her gaze over her gathered soldiers. All of whom displayed varying levels of shame and boredom.

Matsumoto rolled her eyes and fanned her face with her hand. "It's not _my_ fault that they slipped out while I was flirting with that guy at the bar. You would have too if you saw him."

"What can I say?" Yumichika frowned as he slid the file over the edge of his nails and smoothed them to perfection. "Taichou stuck me on Yachiru-duty. And there's no way I can slip out of that."

Rukia sniffed, unimpressed by their excuses. Her eyes shifted to Shuuhei, the only one of the three who seemed sufficiently cowed.

"And what's your excuse?"

He shrank away from her accusing stare. "Look, I tried to stop them. They wouldn't listen! Do you know how hard it is to tell four drunk men they _can't _have free food?" Shuuhei nearly cried. "It's impossible!"

Huffing, Rukia rubbed fingers over her brow, trying to stem an oncoming headache. She waved off Shuuhei's explanation.

"Okay, fine. You tried your best. But this time, we absolutely cannot fail. Hinamori Momo must be stopped!"

"Right!" Yumichika and Matsumoto declared in unison.

Shuuhei followed with a much less enthusiastic, "Whatever..."

"We'll stop her!" Yumichika and Matsumoto continued, only to pause and look at each other. "Wait? What?"

Rukia sighed and shook her head. "Last time, she almost ruined everything!" She said in exasperation, her hands forming fists of aggravation. "If I hadn't tackled her, Ichigo never would have been kissed! It was his first you know," she added in an aside. "He'll die a virgin at this rate. Completely untouched. Never knowing the feel of anyone else but himself."

Matsumoto and Yumichika all but gasped in horror. Shuuhei just slapped his palm across his face and tried his best to sink through the floor. That was far more about Kurosaki-kun than he ever wanted to know.

"And," Rukia continued as though she didn't notice, "if Hinamori has her way, that will be exactly what happens."

Matsumoto shook her head, strawberry blonde tresses fluttering through the air. "That's the most horrible thing I've ever heard! It's almost like going to a bar without sake, without any alcohol… A life without sex?" She shuddered.

"Such a tragedy," Yumichika agreed with an equal look of revulsion. "Though perhaps Kira-kun could help him along. He seemed to have well in hand the last time."

Shuuhei shivered at the memory. Face reddening at the image of his kouhai with his hands down Kurosaki-kun's hakama. Then, he groaned in remembered embarrassment.

But like always, he was ignored.

"That's the back-up plan," Rukia was quick to assure him. "I have it on good authority that Aizen is… how shall I put this? _Experienced_ with other men. He'll make Ichigo's first time extra special. Which is nothing less than he deserves." She pumped her fist into the air.

"Hai!" Yumichika and Matsumoto all but yelled together.

Shuuhei smartly remained silent.

"Now," Rukia inserted once everyone had quieted, "I'm not sure when Aizen will plan the next date, so we have to keep a careful eye out. Right men?"

"And women?" Matsumoto insisted.

"And women," Rukia conceded with an all-too-frightening smile. "Hinamori will never know what hit her."

'_Neither will Kurosaki-kun,_' Shuuhei thought to himself with an internal groan. He wondered if the boy was even aware of the plans his dear friend had for him. If he even knew how very manipulative she could be.

But it would be a cold day in Hell before Shuuhei would think to warn him either. Kuchiki was _insane_, and now, she had involved Matsumoto and Ayasegawa in her madness? Shuuhei would have to be suicidal to interfere.

And not for the first time he wished he had never been dragged into their scheme. But better Kurosaki-kun than he.

* * *

Sitting on his throne, Aizen Sousuke was remembering. His fingers drummed the flat arms as he stared at nothing, mind locked on the past. A small smile decorated his lips, a cute little ditty threatening to hum in the back of his throat.

Ichigo-kun was a _very_ interesting date. He was glad he had taken Kuchiki-san up on her invitation. Very glad indeed. It had been a long time since he'd even had a casual outing. There was only so much time in the day after all. And much of his was spent planning his world domination and ascension to godhood. It didn't exactly leave him much time for socializing outside of his minions and lieutenant.

Still, every king needed a queen, and Gin was already his prince, the heir to his kingdom. Sousuke lacked an integral part to his scheme, another second-in-command who was more companion than servant. A firm and unyielding presence at his side to serve as both support and distraction. Someone tough and fierce but well-beloved by the populace. Intelligent but not arrogant. Beautiful and graceful. Powerful. Radiant. And it didn't hurt that the boy already had his own Hollow abilities. They complimented Sousuke's side rather well.

Yes, Ichigo-kun would do very nicely.

"Er... Aizen-taichou?" Gin's voice wasn't quite tentative. More concerned than anything since he didn't often catch his lord daydreaming.

"I'm fine, Gin," Sousuke assured him as he slid down from his throne and landed with an elegant flutter of his robes. "Merely contemplating." He allowed his hand to brush his lieutenant's shoulder as he walked by.

Gin was quick to trail after him. "Where ya going, taichou?"

"To take Ichigo-kun up on his offer, of course," Sousuke said, throwing the answer over his shoulder. A jaunty extra bounce to his step.

He could tell from the following flicker of reiatsu that poor Gin was a tad confused.

"But... We have an invasion scheduled for tonight."

Sousuke gave him a dismissive wave. "Oh, that can wait another day or two. We'll catch the Shinigami unaware regardless."

Never let it be forgotten that the Shinigami were masters of standing around with their thumbs up their asses before it became too late. It was a truth that Sousuke had capitalized on plenty of times. It still amused him.

He left his confused second in the throne room. Gin would understand in due time, quick and clever as he was. There was a reason he was Sousuke's chosen successor after all, his true and only heir. Still, he had hinted that he'd been lonely as of late without his usual companions, Kira-san and Matsumoto, and a new friend would be just the thing to bring out that smile. Besides, he had been asking for a mother for quite some time. Sousuke had just never found one up to standards before now.

With that thought, the overlord headed to his own chambers, setting in for a quick shower and change of clothes. Sousuke contemplated date options, finally settling for a walk through a park. He knew of a rather nice one in the middle of Karakura with a walking path and – if he recalled correctly – many vendors worked that route.

Ice cream in summer. How could he resist?

A smile pulled at his lips as Sousuke opened a Garganta and stepped into a sunny afternoon. He expanded his senses and searched for Shinigami who might think to attack without considering the ability of success. But none were anywhere near enough to detect him. Perfect.

It was easy enough to find Ichigo-kun's house the second time around, and he hoped that the teen was home, especially considering that he was visiting unexpectedly. Still, as evil incarnate, it would be a bad idea for him to announce his intentions ahead of time. Best to keep everyone on their toes after all.

He arrived at the Kurosaki household and was relieved to sense Ichigo inside. Sousuke would hate to have come here for nothing. Resisting the urge to hum to himself, the former captain strode up the walk towards the door. Before he even came within ten feet, however, it slammed open. Ichigo-kun came striding out, expression stormy.

"Stupid Goat-Face," he muttered with a violent scuff of his shoes across the pavement. Only to come to a complete halt at the sight of Aizen Sousuke, blinking in surprise.

Sousuke smiled. His queen certainly looked lovely when riled. He wondered if that red flush was the same as when the teen was aroused.

"Good afternoon, Ichigo-kun," he greeted with a lifted hand. "I hope that my arrival isn't too presumptuous?"

He watched as Ichigo-kun's jaw worked several times without a sound emerging. Then, the Vizard lifted his shoulders.

"Actually, it works out perfectly," he commented with a peculiar tone.

"Iiiiiichigoooooooo!"

The sound seemed to emerge from the house behind the young man, and Sousuke blinked in surprise as he grimaced. Ichigo-kun darted forward then, grabbing Sousuke's hand and dragging the evil overlord along with him.

"In fact, let's get started right now," Ichigo-kun said in all a rush, forcing Sousuke to jog to keep up.

"Is this a bad time?" he posed in response.

Ichigo-kun shook his head, a light smile touching his lips. "Just my old man being an idiot as usual."

He really had a nice smile, Sousuke decided then. He wondered what other expressions he might be able to garner from the Vizard. If they would be every bit as intriguing.

What a wonderful day it was turning out to be.

"There's a park a few blocks from here--"

"I know," Ichigo-kun interrupted. "Karin plays soccer there all the time. It's supposed to be the largest in the city."

Sousuke inclined his head. "Precisely. It's a nice day. We should take advantage of it."

As his house vanished in the distance, Ichigo-kun's frantic push for escape eased. He slowed their pace to a walk, allowing Sousuke to draw up beside him.

"Sounds good to me," the teen said in an even more pleasant voice before falling silent.

They walked in quiet contemplation for several minutes, enjoying the scenery and clear weather. Children frolicked happily in the park. Parents watched them indulgently as dogs played fetch with their owners. An old man and his wife handed out balloons to the passersby free of charge, and young couples curled together on the benches.

It was very peaceful. Very picturesque. Sousuke still preferred white sands and black sky.

"So..." Ichigo-kun began slowly, raking a hand through his orange hair. "How's the... uh..." He made a vague gesture.

"Bid to become God?" Sousuke supplied smoothly and with a definite quirk to his mouth. He wondered if the boy even noticed how close together they walked.

"Yeah, that." Ichigo winced but still nodded. "Everything going good for you, I take it?"

"Swimmingly. I'm right on schedule with all proceeding as planned." Sousuke hummed under his breath, feeling his skin tingle every time their arms brushed.

"That's... good. I guess."

Ichigo-kun shrugged before unceremoniously shoving his hands into his pockets, which only made his arm come further into contact with the man beside him. He didn't seem to notice as he tilted his head back, watching a cloud idly float by.

"And you?" Sousuke continued, making no secret of the fact he was openly admiring his companion in that ridiculously short shirt of his. Honestly, every time the boy so much as lifted his shoulder, several inches of bare but flat abdomen was revealed. "How is your training?"

Ichigo-kun shrugged, as Sousuke suspected he would. The overlord leered at the span of tanned skin revealed. Mmm, quite nice. And was that a hint of bellybutton?

He turned his head to catch a better glimpse. Dark eyes drifting from the hem of Ichigo-kun's skirt across the bared plains of his stomach to the top of his pants.

So it was.

"The same as usual," the teen answered with a hedge around any details. They were still technically enemies after all; it was to be expected. "I don't have much else better to do besides that and school."

Sousuke inclined his head. "Ah, the life of the young. It is to be envied."

His gaze traced the clean, muscular lines of his companion's abdomen. Apparently, substitute Shinigami work was very good for the body. The regular Gotei 13 certainly didn't make them like this. Those men were either too effeminate and ineffectual or overly muscled morons.

"Whatever you say," Ichigo-kun dismissed with a wave of his hand. "And the uh... minions, I guess. They're all... ehhh, healthy?"

Except for the ones Ichigo-kun had defeated, yes. But the overlord wasn't going to say that. He admired his queen for his strength. Sousuke wouldn't have him any other way.

He smiled then and watched as Ichigo-kun turned to look at something. Effectively baring his neck and revealing the tanned and supple flesh there.

"Awaiting our victory," Sousuke answered, admiring the way Ichigo-kun's jeans clung to every inch of his legs. "Oh, and the arrival of my queen of course."

Ichigo-kun came to a sudden halt. "What? Queen?"

Realizing that he had let that slip, Sousuke cast about for a distraction. "Is that ice cream?" He titled his head to a vendor with a cart, who was ringing a rather charming bell. "I love ice cream. Would you like some, Ichigo-kun?"

He was off before the boy could protest, able to feel the confusion in Ichigo-kun's reiatsu. Ah, but his queen was so delectable when confused. His brow furrowed deeply; that scowl twisted his lips. Sousuke imagined that it melted quite nicely when he was kissed. Or licked. Or groped. Devoured. Aroused.

He prudently filed that thought away as he pondered the selection available. Chocolate. Vanilla. Swirl. _Strawberry_?

Sousuke's lips curled into a smirk. Oh, the irony.

"Ichigo-kun, which would you like?"

His queen sauntered up to his side and glanced over the selection. "Vanilla," he grumbled, still looking at Sousuke suspiciously.

Well, that would have to be solved quickly.

Ice cream retrieved and paid for, the two started back down the path. They headed towards a quieter, trail-like part of the park. More for adults than children as there were no playgrounds nearby, just carefully landscaped gardens and the occasional sculpture or bench.

Words were abandoned for more important pursuits, the consumption of ice cream. And Sousuke amused himself by admiring the scenery, trying not to openly leer at Ichigo-kun and deepen his suspicions. But temptation got the better of him.

Sousuke glanced at Ichigo-kun and felt every drop of blood in his body rush southwards. Buying ice cream had seemed like a good idea at the time, but looking at the teen now, it seemed terribly wrong of him. A drop had missed Ichigo-kun's mouth, and his tongue slid between his lips to catch it. Only the vanilla dollop was just out of reach.

Instinct took over. A hand gently grasped Ichigo-kun's chin, and dark eyes focused on that small hint of vanilla.

"You missed a bit," Sousuke murmured, leaning in to lick the drop. It tasted sweet on his tongue but no more so than the flavor of Ichigo-kun's skin.

Tongue flicking over his lips, Sousuke pulled back and swallowed deeply. Ichigo-kun stared at him, and Sousuke returned the gaze, unable to resist the pull of those brown eyes. His breath puffed gently against Ichigo-kun's mouth where his tongue emerged to drag over them once more.

Honestly, Ichigo-kun had to be tempting him. It had to be on purpose. This was the only explanation.

"Sweet," Sousuke commented with a surreptitious glance around him.

The area was deserted. No children. No nosy parents. No one to lay eyes on what he was going to do next. As Ichigo-kun hadn't seemed too angry with the first kiss, Sousuke reasoned he wouldn't be angry with another. And he grabbed a slender wrist and brought it up to his lips, and as he held the teen's gaze, he licked off the line of ice cream that had melted from its cone. Sousuke was treated to the sight of brown eyes dilating with interest and the sound of breath hitching.

_Intoxicating_.

"Spilled a little here, too," Sousuke murmured, the sweet taste of vanilla and Ichigo-kun dancing on his tongue.

"I never realized I was such a messy eater," the teen returned thoughtlessly. His fingers twitched, but he didn't pull away.

A good sign.

"It's rather cute," Sousuke said, and with the way Ichigo-kun kept looking at him, he couldn't resist anymore. His ice cream hit the ground with a messy pink splatter.

He lowered his head and kissed Ichigo-kun again, drawing him in until they were pressed together. This time, the teen participated, tongue pushing into Sousuke's mouth without hesitation. He tasted a lot like sin, especially to Aizen Sousuke who knew good and well he was seducing his enemy. Or soon-to-be queen rather. His consort.

Ichigo-kun pressed against him, all warmth and lithe limbs. The strength in his sinewy frame was something to be admired. Reiatsu vibrating beneath the surface and twining with his own in a way that only those truly compatible would ever be able to manage. Intimate with a hint of spice and sunlight. Radiant in his simple elegance.

Ah, Sousuke had made a superb choice indeed.

But… but in the back of his mind, there was an unusual buzz of reiatsu. Familiar. Somewhat strong. Tasting vaguely of Shinigami. Sousuke wanted to ignore it, but it was an annoying blip in his thoughts. He couldn't focus.

Then, he heard giggling. Stifled. But giggling nonetheless.

"Ichi... No!"

And that pretty much proved it. Someone was watching them. And not very stealthily Sousuke might add.

Ichigo ended the kiss, a little dazed, his lips reddened. His eyes were glassy but clearing as he cocked his head to the side.

"You hear something?" he asked, expression too cute for Sousuke to ignore.

The overlord contemplated using some kind of illusion to slip away, but it was unnecessary. He could always save that for later. And for more pleasurable activities.

"The wind," Sousuke assured him as he attempt not to glare at a rustling bush, the source of the noise and reiatsu. He turned Ichigo-kun back towards the path. "But it is getting late, my dear."

Brown eyes drifted to the sky. "Yeah, I guess it is," Ichigo-kun agreed, though he didn't sound all that thrilled about returning home.

Ichigo-kun's tongue flicked over his lips before he seemed to remember the ice cream cone. It found a trash can as they passed, a hopelessly melted vanilla puddle. Sousuke watched avidly as that pink tongue removed a drop that had slid down the boy's hand.

Did Ichigo-kun even realize how irresistible he was?

Just as Sousuke was contemplating this conundrum, there was a sudden flash. Another giggle. A streak of movement. A rising buzz of reiatsu. A second flash followed by several clicks.

"I got it!" someone shouted excitedly. "I got-- Ulp!"

"Get 'em, team!"

"Aizen-taichou!"

"I got her!"

"Ichi-- No!"

When the flashes faded and Sousuke was done blinking the spots from his eyes, he was left gaping at... well, nothing. Despite the voices, nothing and no one was there.

Ichigo-kun blinked. And blinked again.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"I don't know," Sousuke said, blinking himself. "I honestly don't know." He took the opportunity to slip his arm in Ichigo-kun's and swiftly lead him away.

To be perfectly honest, he was a twinge… _disturbed_. That might have been Urahara Kisuke's voice in there. And possibly Shihouin Yoruichi. But there were several different tones mixed also, and by kami, he might have thought he heard Hinamori-kun, too.

The evil overlord of Hueco Mundo fought off a shudder of revulsion. He redirected his attention to both his companion and the sudden need to get the hell out of there. And at a pace that was certainly not the same leisurely stroll as before, he took them back through the park proper. Passing benches and children and parents in a near blur. Not slowing until he felt the buzz of reiatsu die away on the sidewalk just outside the entrance.

From there, they could turn right and held back to Ichigo-kun's home or go left into the city. But Sousuke was not quite ready for this to be over. He didn't want the day to end so quickly since it seemed to have only just begun. Yet truly, this choice belonged to his dear queen. He needed Ichigo-kun to choose him as well. And actively so. Even if he didn't yet realize what Sousuke was offering.

The overlord turned to the teen beside him. "I have greatly enjoyed your company today," he said in a soft tone, eyes fighting not to stray to the edge of Ichigo-kun's shirt. "But I don't want it to end just yet. After all, what is desert without dinner to accompany it?" he questioned rather rhetorically and offered his arm once more.

Ichigo-kun just blinked at him. And Sousuke could practically see the decision weighing in his mind. An invitation from a perceived enemy versus returning to his crazed father. A nice meal versus insanity and random attacks. Aizen Sousuke versus Kurosaki Isshin.

Really, it was a very easy choice to make.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Ichigo-kun asked as he slowly inched closer.

Sousuke just smiled.

* * *

a/n: Ke he he he he. This one _cracks me up_. I find it terribly amusing. I hope you did, too. Next in the series: back to the beginning! We see the reason why Rukia embarked on her quest to get Ichigo a date. I promise it will be hilarious. As soon as I write it. Eh heh.

Hope you enjoyed!

As promised, today (12/12) you can start making requests! And it will last through next Saturday (12/19). So hit me with your best shot! And have fun with it!


	148. Of Present and Proposals

**Title: Of Present and Proposals**

**Characters: Urahara/Byakuya**

**Rating: T-ish**

**Warning: naked boys, boykisses, afterwar fic**

**Words: 2415**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Of Past and Peppermints**_**. It is the only thing Byakuya has asked of him, and Kisuke wonders if it is something he is capable of giving. **

**Dedication: For **_**Dorkchic**_**, who wanted this pairing.**

* * *

Kisuke brushes away long strands of dark hair and leans over, pressing a kiss to a bared shoulder. Byakuya murmurs something in his sleep, briefly shifting before settling again. Amused, Kisuke drags his lips further across pale skin until his lips tease against a sensitive throat and he breathes hotly into Byakuya's ear. His hand skates down the other man's bare side and briefly smooths over old, barely present scars.

Byakuya stirs, dragging his hand out from under a pillow. "Have you no need for sleep?" he murmurs and wrinkles his nose in a vaguely annoyed fashion.

Kisuke can't help but find it unbearably cute. "On a Saturday morning, there are more interesting things one could be doing with his lover who he hasn't seen for several weeks."

He presses against Byakuya, drawn to all that bare skin like a magnet to metal, sliding together. Byakuya is warm in his arms, a tempting creature that was successfully marked by the blond several times the night before.

"A war has just ended, Kisuke," the captain reminds him, and they are close enough that he can feel the rumble of his words. "To say that it is busy in Seireitei right now would be an understatement."

Kisuke lifts a brow, though Byakuya can't see it at the moment. "Are you trying to tell me that you are too tired to have relations with me?" he teases, nibbling on a flash of exposed neck within mouthing distance.

"I thought you would be the type to appreciate a morning sleeping in, doing nothing more than cuddling with your lover," Byakuya retorts in return, though he shifts ever-so-slightly into the blond's embrace.

"I think you're confusing me for a woman." Kisuke chuckles and nibbles on a bare shoulder, right over a rather cute freckle that he can't help but greet every time. "Would you do it for a peppermint?"

Byakuya emits a low sound of annoyance. "Now you're confusing me for a child."

And that is the last thing that Kisuke wishes to think of this man as. Byakuya is very much an adult now, and Kisuke rather enjoys the grown-up him.

"Byakuya, I am far from thinking of you as anything like a child. I am not that sort of pervert." He grins then, and it is a lecherous thing.

"At least, you're admitting you are one in some capacity," the other man returns easily.

It is this Byakuya who Kisuke loves. One who is unafraid to reveal his humor and can take as well as he gives. When he drops the hard edge of the Kuchiki glamour and is only Byakuya, Kisuke's lover. It is a blast to the past, when Byakuya had been a loud-mouthed, arrogant brat who Kisuke remembers so fondly.

The blond chuckles lecherously and skates his fingers up Byakuya's bare belly, heading for more perverted territories. "Only for you, my dear Byakuya-bo."

His lover shifts, unintentionally pressing a well-shaped backside against Kisuke's groin. "And here, I thought you had forgotten that ridiculous nickname."

"Never." Kisuke curls his lips around Byakuya's ear, still hoping to encourage his younger lover to fully waken and join him for a morning romp.

The sun is brightly shining, and birds are chirping, and there's no one to interfere. The moment couldn't be any more perfect, and he hasn't had enough yet. It's been weeks since he's been able to hold Byakuya like this, to speak with him, to share embraces. Last night is only the beginning, and sometimes, Kisuke hardly ever knows how long this break will last for his much busier lover.

"I missed you," Kisuke murmurs with a plaintive tone to his voice as he snuggles against Byakuya, luxuriating in the man's warmth.

"You wouldn't miss me if you returned to Soul Society."

It seems like a casual statement, but Kisuke recognizes it for what it is. An argument – ahem, _discussion_ – that they've had before. And he wisely backtracks from his seduction.

"I've told you this before, I like my shop here," he says and casually brushes a piece of blond hair from his face.

From his position, he can just barely see Byakuya's eyelids flutter before he closes them. "You could have one in Seireitei. No one says you have to be a Shinigami again."

"And where would I live? The Kuchiki manor?" Kisuke can't conceal his disgusted snort, having had his fill of the upper class. "I'm sure Kuchiki Midoriko-sama would love that one."

Byakuya's response is softly quiet, a bare breath in the morning stillness. "There is no rule that states I must reside in the Kuchiki manor."

Stunned by the silent offer, Kisuke could only retort a pale shade of an excuse. "It is not that simple."

"No, you prefer to make it complicated," Byakuya returns, sounding an edge frustrated. "I offer answers; you give excuses."

Kisuke can say nothing in return because he knows that his lover is indeed correct. He isn't even sure himself why he fights Byakuya on this matter. His exile has been lifted – Byakuya has made sure of that. And yet, the blond is reluctant to stride back into his former home. He wonders if a part of him might fear that it could so easily be ripped away a second time.

"Why will you not just return?" Byakuya asks, his voice filling the silence. It is a question he has asked several times before.

Kisuke resists the urge to pull away, to distance himself from a discussion that has become more and more common. "I told you."

"No, you played at answering me." Byakuya shifts then to look at him more evenly.

But Kisuke knows better than to enter a verbal spar with Kuchiki Byakuya, who manages to say so much with few words. Every statement an implication of something more, perfectly worded to the full effect.

He drags his gaze away, to somewhere safer than the alluring picture his lover makes in the sunlight and caught in his arms.

"Do you fear losing your freedom?" Byakuya poses.

To that, Kisuke can only scoff internally. He doesn't answer because the statement doesn't necessitate one.

Byakuya, of course, is undaunted by his lack of participation.

"Tsukabishi-san, Jinta-kun, and Ururu-chan have already left, Kisuke. What are you waiting for?" The question is a new one but in much the same vein.

"I _like_ it here," Kisuke insists, a hint of affront in his voice. It is true, partially at any rate. The ex-captain has at least adapted to his life in the Living World.

"With the humans," Byakuya states flatly, as though he doesn't believe that and sees the answer for the excuse it really is. "You're that enamored of them? Or is it that you still want to protect your student?"

How kindly Byakuya has given him that ready-made answer. "I can't leave Ichigo here by himself," Kisuke agrees, latching onto the defense as though he had thought of it in the first place. "He hasn't even finished his schooling yet."

"From what I hear, Kurosaki Ichigo is making his own plans to relocate."

Byakuya hints to a truth that not even Kisuke has learned for himself, proving that he has been a little out of touch with others. It is true that things have been rather busy lately. Some excuse that is, if he doesn't even know that his precious student has acquired a romantic interest. And in a Shinigami no less.

"Oh?" Kisuke leans forward eagerly, palm flat against Byakuya's chest and feeling the calm beat of his heart beneath. "Do tell. Is it Rukia-chan?"

Byakuya snorts in a very inelegant, non-Kuchiki like fashion. "Rukia has better taste. She _is _my sister, after all."

"Ah, then it must be Abarai-kun she's set her eyes on," Kisuke teases.

He knows full well that Byakuya respects both of the aforementioned males but probably considers no one worthy of his sister's attention. The benefits of being an older brother, he supposes. Ichigo-kun is much like that with his own siblings.

"Kisuke, you're changing the subject," Byakuya interrupts his thoughts then.

The blond doesn't know if he'll ever quite get used to hearing his name falling from Byakuya's lips. Kisuke snuggles closer, forehead lying against the back of Byakuya's shoulder as he curls his arms around the slimmer man. Entirely unable to express his reservations in words.

"It's a boring subject." It almost comes out a pout.

"_Kisuke_."

"I just don't think returning there is a good idea right now," he mumbles, fingers stroking Byakuya's skin in what he hopes to be a soothing manner. Though it really isn't doing much to help Kisuke himself.

Byakuya's voice softens. "It wasn't a good idea several months ago either," he reminds Kisuke with a hint of the impatience he had managed to weed out of himself over the passing years. "And if I left it up to you, it wouldn't be a good idea a year from now either."

"Then maybe it's not a good idea after all," the older man attempts.

"You like it like this then?" Byakuya demands, letting out a noise of frustration that rattles through his entire body. "Waiting until I can collect enough time off to schedule a trip to the living world? What do you want from this, Kisuke? From me?"

It is crossing into pretty serious territory now, a harsh edge to Byakuya's tone that usually doesn't enter their discussions. By now, he has usually realized that Kisuke is quite stubborn and doesn't ask anything more. There is something more determined in his posture now, however. As though he won't be leaving this time without an answer of one sort or another, that not even he can keep waiting forever. And Kisuke reminds himself that he has forced Byakuya to wait before. It would be cruel of him to do so again.

His fingers twitch, arms tightening. "I would prefer a bit more of your time," he admits. Unwilling to say aloud how nice it would be to wake up with Byakuya every day, rather than the few stolen moments their conflicting schedules allow. "Though I am sure the Kuchiki won't be too thrilled. They won't like you bringing in another Rukongai whore."

It is his bitterness seeping out that causes the last comment, as it is the nobles who fought the most against his exile being lifted. It was a Chamber 46 full of nobles who helped to exile him in the first place. And it was the nobles who cast him aside as a child, as though his mixed blood were Kisuke's own fault.

"Neither she nor you are a whore," Byakuya returns with a very firm voice.

"Trash then." It comes off as flippant, but Kisuke hardly feels that way.

"Not that either. Your father--"

"--was a noble and a bastard through and through," Kisuke finishes cynically. "And tossed out my mother as soon as he was done with her. Bastard children of a servant have no place in a noble's household. Even if they were fathered by the head of the family." The blond snorts, stomach twisting into knots just remembering his past. "My father was not a Kuchiki, but I know their type. They will not make things easy."

"And they have nothing to do with it," Byakuya says sharply, and there is a tint of anger to his words. "I am not ashamed of you. Of _us_. I have given the Kuchiki more than enough of myself. Do you fault me for seeking something of my own?"

Kisuke shakes his head, face buried in black hair that smells faintly of peppermints and cherry blossoms. He thinks of the bag of minty candies just waiting for his lover out in the kitchen, something he always keeps in stock.

"Never," he retorts, eyes narrowing. "And I dare them to try."

It is enough that Kisuke has suffered. He will not allow them to bring anything to his lover. Benihime agrees, and Kisuke's reiatsu flickers briefly, flashing through the room. Byakuya's own washes over him, warm like a blanket and conveying tender feelings that his words cannot quite express.

"You're not very intimidating when you threaten from the boundaries of the living world," he comments idly.

The blond shrugs. "You'd be surprised what I can manage from here."

"I think I would rather see what you are capable of in Soul Society," Byakuya continues, and there is a hint of longing in his voice.

An emotion that Kisuke is hard-pressed to ignore. He can already feel himself swaying, understands that Byakuya is right. He is the only one remaining in the living world now. Even Yoruichi-san is long gone. There is no reason for him to stay. No reason but his pride and his bitterness, both of which make for very lonely nights.

Besides, if he were to sit and think about it, this is the only thing that Byakuya has asked of him since their relationship began. Not for the blond to change. For him to be calmer or more proper or to tone down the zaniness.

"It is a difficult decision." Kisuke exhales, and even so, he knows his mind has been made up.

"Only because you want it to be." Byakuya stirs and abruptly rolls over, startling Kisuke with the sudden change in position.

He pins Kisuke with his body, hair a dark curtain around his face. Arms to either side as grey eyes meet the older man's directly, unable to hide the emotion that gleams behind them. His voice drops low, husky, body pressed up against Kisuke's in all the right places.

"Come back with me," Byakuya says, and there is pleading in his gaze.

Kisuke doesn't say anything, not just yet. But he reaches up with a free hand, fingers tangling in dark hair. He gently pulls Byakuya towards him, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. Even this early, the Kuchiki heir tastes faintly of peppermints, his tongue carefully coaxing Kisuke's out to play.

"I'll even help you pack up the shop," Byakuya murmurs against his lips, as though he planned this careful seduction. "I managed an entire week."

And kami help him, but Kisuke is weak to this kind of persuasion. How can he decline when Byakuya is so willing to fight for him? To meddle behind the scenes and arrange everything so beautifully?

"You must have worked overtime to do it," Kisuke comments, sliding his arms around Byakuya and hoping to rekindle his earlier ardor. "We'll just take the whole damn shouten. I can think of better things to do with a week's free time."

And he is rewarded by the pleased look in Byakuya's eyes and another pleased response that Byakuya gives him. His body enjoys it very much indeed.

* * *

a/n: Mmm-hmmm, what can I say but this pairing holds a particular place in my heart. Not quite a pairing of choice, but just squishy enough that I fully enjoy writing it. I have in mind a sequel eventually. Once I fully hash it out.

Hope you enjoyed!

With that, I remind you that requests have now closed. I've received some very, very interesting ones. I can't hardly wait to get started on them! Thanks everyone for participating. And if you missed it this time around, don't fret! I will reopen again in the future.


	149. Fruit Basket

**Title: Fruits Basket**

**Pairings: Gin/Izuru (light and hinted)**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boyhugs, spoilers**

**Words: 3135**

**Description: An easier decision than expected, Izuru escaped to the only place he had ever been wanted. **

**Dedication: For **_**DramaQueen1193**_**, who wanted a sequel to **_**Musical Chairs**_**. **

* * *

Discovering what he needed to know wasn't as difficult as Izuru expected it to be. Who knew that the twelfth division was full of such lightweights? But then, they spent most of their waking hours buried in scientific calculations and experiments. Most of them rarely saw battle. It was to be expected that they couldn't handle their liquor either.

More importantly, they became quite loquacious when steeped in sake and beer and whatever free alcohol Izuru pushed on them. His questions had been answered easily, though he'd had to pick apart the information and put it in a coherent order later. The difficulty of that didn't matter when he arrived at the end result.

Izuru packed lightly, carrying only his necessities, Wabisuke and his fourth division med kit, and the few items he couldn't bear to leave behind. The scarf Hisagi-senpai had knitted for him last winter. A decorative fan that had belonged to his mother. A pair of sunglasses Abarai-kun had gotten him for his birthday. His favorite book of poetry, filled with annotations and side notes from the original owner, Aizen-taichou himself.

He forewent all other items; they were a burden he didn't need. If this worked – and he prayed to whoever was listening that it did – Izuru wouldn't require anything else. He didn't even wear his shihakushou, leaving it behind with his vice-captain's badge and all other trappings of his connection to the Shinigami. Everything else was material goods that didn't really matter at all to him, reminders of things better forgotten.

Slipping into the cool night, Izuru made his way to the edges of Seireitei, holding his reiatsu to him like a cloak. Only the most astute would be able to sense him, and he doubted that they would even try. It would require effort, and no one believed they needed to think twice about him. Not worth the effort. Not worth noticing. Not up to any mischief.

How very wrong they were.

He had already obtained the necessary device. Izuru wondered how long it would be before they noticed it was gone. Not that he cared. He planned on destroying it the moment its task was complete.

And on the Soukyoku Hill, he looked out and down on Seireitei, certain it was the last time he would see this place. He waited for the pang of longing, for a crushing regret and sadness. He waited for a sense of loss to crash over him. When neither came, Izuru's resolve only solidified more.

He activated the gate device and watched as a Garganta tore into the space in front of him, giving him a glimpse of darkness beyond. A wave of spiritual pressure accompanied its appearance. Not that it mattered. He would be long gone before anyone thought to investigate.

Izuru emerged on the white, desolate sands of Hueco Mundo, in a flurry of wind and dust. Grimacing, he shielded his eyes against the grit and glanced at what would hopefully become his new home.

There was nothing here but miles of white sand and endless night. He thought he saw something that could be a tree – a dead one granted, but a tree nonetheless. However, he had no clue which direction he should go. Though he supposed it didn't matter. Izuru had no doubt that Aizen-taichou and his subordinates had sensed the Garganta. Someone would find him. Whether to kill or investigate, whichever came first.

Izuru had no choice but to wander until then. So he slung the bag over his shoulder and picked a random direction. To the left seemed as good a way as any and it looked the easy path.

It was difficult to say how long he wandered as the sky never changed. The moon continued to hang in the same exact spot. It was painfully silent, except for the occasional breeze, and all Izuru had learned was that the trees were bone-white and most definitely deceased. It was truly an empty and desolate place, the physical reflection of everything he had always felt in Seireitei.

He didn't even encounter a Hollow, which was strange unto itself. Hueco Mundo was supposed to be full of them, so why hadn't Izuru seen a single one? He was surrounded by silence and solitude, the thought sending a shiver up his spine.

Growing tired, Izuru considered a stop to rest when he had the sudden sensation of being watched. Eyes following his every movement. He paused, scanning the landscape with both his gaze and a surveying sweep of his reiatsu. There was a tingle of power on the edge of his senses, and when Izuru turned, someone stood just behind him.

Not just anyone but one of Aizen-taichou's Arrancar. An Espada he assumed, though he couldn't immediately tell.

"You're going the wrong way," the brunet informed him, hands casually buried in his pockets as he stood there with posture affecting a lazy nonchalance. Yet, there was something to the calculating look in grayish-blue eyes that hinted to the potential for danger.

Izuru paused to consider him.

"Las Noches is the other direction," the Arrancar continued when he didn't get a response.

Izuru shifted and glanced around. "I never was a good guesser," he replied, wondering if the Espada was here to help or hinder. "What are you--"

"You're here to see Ichimaru-sama, right?" the Arrancar interrupted, lips pulling into a slow grin. "He said we should keep an eye out for you. The cute and polite blond with blue eyes."

Something within Izuru warmed at the thought, even as a slow stream of anger burned its way through his veins. Ichimaru-taichou knew he would come? Then why not ask Izuru to leave in the first place? Why leave him behind?

Wary, Izuru's hand rested casually on Wabisuke's hilt. "Then you're not here to stop me?"

"I don't think Ichimaru-sama would like that very much," the brunet drawled with a tilt of his head to the side. "The name is Stark by the way. And I'm guessing you're Kira Izuru."

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the white bone resting on Stark's collar, the obvious evidence of his existence. It fascinated Izuru. Already, Hueco Mundo was so different from Seireitei, and Izuru luxuriated in that fact.

Izuru nodded. "Yes, I am, Stark-san."

The Espada's smile brightened. "Good. Come with me then." He flicked his head, tossing strands of hair out of one eye.

And Izuru wasn't inclined to argue. He figured that if Stark wanted to attack him, he would do it already. There was something in the Arrancar's quiescent reiatsu that spoke of unbelievable power. A strength that Izuru knew he wouldn't be able to counter. The Espada was more than capable of forcing the issue. So he softly followed Stark-san as he actually led them the opposite direction Izuru had been going.

Well, that was embarrassing. He never would have found Las Noches at that rate.

But Stark-san didn't comment on that fact as he ambled over one white-sanded dune and then another. He was a calm and quiet presence. Content to leave Izuru to his own thoughts and clearly unbothered by the silence. They moved neither slowly nor quickly at first before passing the last of the tall dunes and giving way to sharp bursts of sonido and shunpo that took them directly to the massive gates of Las Noches. Izuru couldn't help but gape in wide-eyed astonishment at the massive fortress. It stood out in stark relief against the inky blackness of Hueco Mundo's sky.

For all its solitary presence and austere lines, it was truly beautiful. A palace fitting a lord of Aizen's perceived status and nature.

"Our humble abode," Stark-san commented with a faint gesture, lips twitching into a smirk as sarcasm laced his tone.

Humble wasn't exactly the word Izuru would use to describe this place either. But he didn't argue, simply trailed after his escort through the opening doors and into the silent hallways of Las Noches that were as white as the sand outside. Izuru felt eyes watching them, though he could see no one else, and the walls themselves vibrated with reiatsu, the haunting echo and taste of Hollows. It was a tad discomfiting to Izuru as used to the thrum and ebb of the Shinigami as he was. Not a bad difference, merely unusual. Like a river that was flowing at the same speed but backwards from normal.

The sensation only grew as he followed Stark-san through the twisting, turning corridors until Izuru was certain he'd never find his way out again. Left and then right and three more lefts and then an intersection that he swore that they'd already passed through once before until he found himself in front of a single door.

One hand on the knob, the Espada turned towards him. "The boss is waiting for you," he explained, once again raking his gaze over Izuru as though assessing him for some reason or another.

Waiting?

A flitter of conflicting emotions stirred in Izuru, but he simply nodded. Letting Stark-san open the door for him and stepping into the room beyond.

Immediately, he shielded his eyes from an immensely bright if false glow. Something in the distance rumbled even as a wave of incredible pressure slammed into Izuru with defining force. He was nearly driven from his feet, standing by sheer will alone. And yet, there was an edge of familiarity in that hollow-tainted reiatsu.

Ichimaru-taichou. Izuru would know him in an instant. Would know him anywhere.

Wind whipped through the vast expanse of indoor sands, and Izuru shielded his face from the grit that showered him. He heard footsteps lightly against the ground, even as the wind faded, leaving a faint chill in the air. Izuru dropped his hand from his face and had his first glimpse at his ex-captain in weeks, in months.

Something flip-flopped inside his chest, ridiculously happy and warmed all at once. Ichimaru-taichou seemed much the same, despite the change in attire from black to white. But more startling was the sight of the mask that covered his face. All angles and a large, wide smile with colorful markings striking up the sides of it.

A Vizard. His former captain was a Vizard. Funny how the thought didn't disgust him as he had been trained to believe it should. In fact, Izuru was more fascinated, wondering just how stronger Ichimaru-taichou was now. Wondering what it would feel like to drag his fingers across the white bone, if it would feel warm and pliable to the touch. If it would feel even more so if he pressed his fingers and lips to it.

How strange the thoughts that flittered through his mind in that moment. How odd and utterly unlike himself.

Ichimaru-taichou stepped closer to him, having said nothing just yet, and when they were a mere arm's length apart, he lifted his hand towards Izuru. To his credit, Izuru didn't shirk away. Just waited for whatever Ichimaru-taichou had planned, a storm of emotions swirling through him.

But the fingers stopped inches from his cheek. Ichimaru-taichou dropped his hand again.

"Ya didn't flinch," he said, voice holding an odd echo from behind the mask.

"Of course not," Izuru replied, completely indignant. Words sought to spill from his lips, but he carefully chose from them. "You are my captain, and I'm you're lieutenant. Where you go, I follow. Even when you don't ask it of me."

There was a distinct pause as his words sunk in. And Ichimaru-taichou reached up, his thin fingers curling around the edge of his mask and peeling it away from his face.

"I 'ave my reasons," he returned, voice returned to normal now but vaguely soft. Not quite his familiar purr, but Izuru was still more than glad to hear it.

Twisting his jaw, Izuru felt something build inside him, something he couldn't quite control. He wanted to hurt this man for making him hurt. He also wanted to grab onto his former captain and never let go. He wanted to rage and cry, all at the same time, even as he drew out Wabisuke and demanded an apology. He wanted to drop to his knees in utter relief. He wanted all of it. None of it. Some of it.

Izuru wasn't entirely certain what he wanted anymore. Just to be here and nowhere else.

His hands curled into fists at his side, forcefully holding himself back. "Why the mask?" Izuru asked instead. Wondering why Ichimaru-taichou had chosen to meet him like _this_ rather than somewhere else as himself alone. He had to have known that Izuru had arrived.

Ichimaru-taichou shrugged, dragging a hand through his hair and closing the space between them with a step. "I figured that if the sight o' me lookin' like this weren't enough ta make ya turn around and go back, then nothin' would." He gazed at Izuru just then, straightforward and honest. "Do ya know what yer doin', Kira-fukutaichou? Do ya really?"

Izuru wasn't so foolish as to not recognize the use of his title. Which meant nothing now. He had left his badge back in Soul Society, and he had no intentions of going back for it. Going back for any reason without this man at his side.

"It's just Kira," he corrected with squared shoulders and a lifted chin. "Or even better, just Izuru. And I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

And for once, he met a pair of slitted eyes dead on. Just watched as Ichimaru-taichou's grin widened, became more genuine, a sight that had never ceased to inspire him before. Izuru remembered living for those smiles. Eager for each second of praise. For the words so rarely given to him by anyone else. But never this man. He, Ichimaru-taichou, had always seemed so proud of him, so pleased with him. Had never been anything but generous and honest.

Ichimaru-taichou gazed at him. And something strange flickered across his facebefore he abruptly grabbed Izuru, pulling him into an embrace.

"'m sorry. I'm really sorry," he murmured into Izuru's hair. "I didn't think ya'd want ta leave yer home. Didn't think ya'd want ta throw all yer hard work away."

Snorting, Izuru relaxed into the comfort of his former captain's embrace, something he had admittedly never felt before. Relaxed to the feel of thin arms wrapped tightly around his back and waist, fingers knotting into his clothes. To the warmth of his slight frame and steady beat of his heart against Izuru's chest. To his scent washing over them both, a mix of crisp air and metal and something sweet.

Izuru breathed it in, feeling himself finally ease.

"You're the only one who ever noticed it," he commented, "What good would it do me to stay there? Besides, they expected it of me. Might as well meet their expectations for once. A first time for everything, I suppose."

Ichimaru-taichou laughed then, the sound tangible where their bodies pressed together. "I can jes see that old bastard's face now. Red and furious. Serves 'im righ'. Ignorin' ya… mistreatin' ya like that fer so long."

Izuru laughed, too. And it was a strange feeling to him, laughing, but he rather liked it. How odd that he should feel so free now that he would be considered an outlaw and a traitor. How odd that he should feel more at home here than he had in the city of his birth.

He relaxed further into the embrace and simply let himself breathe. Content to be there with his captain all but plastered against him with his hair brushing across Izuru's cheek.

Then there was a chuckle from somewhere beyond his shoulder.

"You ladies gonna stand there and hug all day?"

Izuru startled at the sudden voice, face flushing in embarrassment. He had _completely_ forgotten about Stark-san. To be honest, he'd thought the Espada had left.

He pulled away from Ichimaru-taichou like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, feeling his cheeks burn. Beside him, his captain's face was drawn with amusement as his hands lingered before being tucked into his sleeves.

"Get yerself an eyeful, Stark-bo?" Ichimaru-taichou questioned, tone pleasant but holding an edge of something like irritation.

The Arrancar shrugged and scratched at his goatee. "Just enough, Ichimaru-sama." His eyes flicked over Izuru. "But if I might make a suggestion, your guest could use some rest. He did wander around outside for at least a few hours after all."

And it wasn't until Stark-san said it that Izuru realized how very tired he was. Exhausted even. He hadn't slept well since the truth emerged those weeks ago. And then planning and plotting had taken his time. He didn't even know how long he had been in Hueco Mundo before Stark had found him.

"I was gettin' ta tha'," Ichimaru-taichou retorted, but there was no heat to it.

Amusement danced in grey-blue eyes. "Sure you were." Stark snickered and turned away, flicking a hand over his shoulder as the other disappeared into a pocket. "Later, Izuru. I'll show you around or something."

It was that easy, Izuru supposed. Just like that, accepted immediately. No looks of suspicion. No instant appraisal and dismissal.

Ichimaru-taichou muttered something directed at Stark but turned back towards Izuru all the same. "He's right. I've been a lousy host. What would Aizen-taichou say?" He grinned again. "Come on, Izuru. Let's find ya a room."

He started walking towards the doorway that Stark had already gone through, off to do whatever the Arrancar were supposed to do. Izuru just blinked after him for a second before trailing behind.

"Hai, taichou."

Ichimaru hesitated then, and Izuru nearly collided with him, skidding to an abrupt stop. His brow furrowed as his former captain moved to face him, head tilted to the side.

"Ya don' have to call me tha' anymore, Izuru," Ichimaru-taichou said softly, almost gently. Eyes not open but not quite slits. "Ya can jes call me Gin now. I've told ya before that it's alrigh'."

Izuru felt his chest warm, and that heat chased away all the weighted emotions that had been building in the past weeks. He was still angry, and he wanted answers, but they could always wait. He had time. Lots of it now.

Izuru wasn't going anywhere. Neither was the man before him.

And he gave a sharp nod. "Alright… Gin-san."

Gin-san just chuckled and shook his head. "It's a start." And he beckoned Izuru closer.

Izuru went gladly.

* * *

AN: There will be a sequel. I promise. There's so much more I want to do with this. And to think, I've never been much of a Gin/Izuru shipper, but I think I might try turning this one on its toes. Heh heh.

Also, I do keep up with the chapters and I know the most recent ones. I am aware that the "official" spelling of Stark's name is Starrk. However, I don't really like the look of it, so I'll keep spelling it Stark. Just like Halibel and Ulquiorra Schiffer and all that. Just in case you were wondering.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	150. Paternal Pride

**Title: Paternal Pride**

**Characters: Ryuuken, mentions of Uryuu and others**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: Light spoilers? **

**Words: 960**

**Description: There is only one thing in the world that Ryuuken wishes for. A companion to drabble 114, **_**Sins of the Father**_**.**

**Dedication: For **_**RadicalEd57**_**, who wanted something with Ryuuken and Uryuu.**

* * *

To be fair, Ryuuken doesn't consider himself any worse of a father than Isshin. At least, Uryuu knows that his father is a Quincy and that he comes from a long line of them. He might not approve of Ryuuken's decision to abandon the life of one or even the dead to their own ways, but Uryuu knows. He hasn't been kept completely in the dark, has not been fed a lie. He hasn't been forced to walk his life without knowing why things happen to him or wonder over the origin of his abilities.

Admittedly, Ryuuken knows he could have done more to help his only son. To be there for him when Souken was killed. More, Ryuuken could have been the one to disperse the Hollows that defeated his own father if he hadn't so stridently denied his Quincy heritage to concentrate on the living. And he knows that a part of his son resents him for not being there then.

But again, at least Uryuu knows. At least he can accept if not understand.

Their relationship is strained. Awkward at best. Downright glacial at worst. Ryuuken allows Uryuu to live on his own because the boy honestly prefers it that way. But sometimes, in the middle of the night and the silence of his own home, Ryuuken regrets that decision. Uryuu is of the age now where he can make his own choices, but Ryuuken wishes he had never aligned with the Kurosaki boy. Had never dared call him friend or even had their paths' cross.

Associations with Shinigami have never been any good for the Quincy. Not just due to what happened to Souken and his failures but also because one might end up with an idiot like Kurosaki Isshin for an unwanted companion. That, however, is another story. An annoying, irritating, stress-inducing tale, but right now, Ryuuken is thinking of only his son.

And all the things he regrets.

On the outside, it appears that he does not care for his only child, and Ryuuken knows this very well. He has never been good at displays of emotion, especially when Uryuu persists in being contrary to everything Ryuuken has wished for him. After all, why should he value the dead more than the living? But this, Ryuuken could never make his son understand. He has always been more like his mother in that regard, always held more her spirit if not her looks.

And he makes the offer to help Uryuu regain his powers with the complete understanding that Uryuu will not follow through with his end of the bargain. He will meet with the Shinigami again, and Ryuuken knows this, too. And he will help the Kurosaki boy save their mutual friend. His son has too much honor, too much courage, to turn his back on anyone. Ryuuken applies the stipulation only to save face, unwilling to actively condone Uryuu's choice.

Ryuuken thinks about his son as a child, as just an infant cradled in his mother's arms. So young and innocent, completely naïve to the truths of the world. He remembers holding Uryuu – promising himself and his wife, promising Uryuu – that he wouldn't have to deal with the burdens of Quincy life. And if not for Souken, Ryuuken might have managed to keep that promise. He can't hate his own father for trying to make Uryuu into what Ryuuken had abandoned. But he can hold onto his anger for it. Can wish that the old man had left well enough alone and allowed his Quincy pride to be finally buried.

After all, what kind of father wants to see his own child bleed for someone who is already dead? It is not that Ryuuken has no sympathy for spirits, but he is too logical. He is a human himself in point of fact. He prefers to concentrate on those who still have their lives, who still have a chance. He cannot be running away at every opportunity to save one spirit or another. He can't fathom abandoning his existence for the dead.

Is it so wrong for him to have wanted better for his son? To wish him a good life without the expectations of their ancestors' lurking over his shoulder?

Ryuuken knows that they think his heart is nothing but ice. That a true father would never treat his son in this way. But he has only to look at Isshin to realize that he could be worse. He could have lied. Watched as his son floundered and fell time after time. Pretended ignorance. Had his son learn the truth of his mother's death from a stranger. Had him nearly die time and time again and do and say nothing. Ryuuken may not show obvious affection for his son, but at least, he does not pretend to hold it when he clearly does not.

And true, Ryuuken has not held his son in a long time. Has not done more than insure that his bank account is full and his rent paid on time. True, they've not spoken familial words to each other in years. Yes, there is a great distance between them. But they are father and son. That fact will not change. Nor will the truth that he loves Uryuu, holds him precious as his only child. His last remaining piece of his dear wife. The last thing in his life of true value.

And though he knows he doesn't deserve it, Ryuuken can't help but wish for a time that Uryuu might call him father. Might admit to their bond. Their connection. To see him as something more than just another Quincy. To see him as a parent. To let the words flow free.

Even if just once.

* * *

AN: Admittedly, Uryuu is here in name only. But still... I wrote Ryuuken for the first time. Go me!

Hope you liked! There's a lot more requests to come!


	151. Cherry Lips

**Title: Cherry Lips**

**Pairing: Zangetsu/Benihime**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: hetness, light spoilers, speculation, written without the new filler arc in mind (I'd much rather read the manga)**

**Words: 783**

**Description: A real man knows when to graciously accept defeat. **

**Dedication: For **_**Alowl**_**, who wanted this pairing.**

* * *

She's such a tease, Zangetsu notices.

They clash and sparks fly. He throws himself forward; she dances out of the way. And just when he thinks he has her pinned beneath him, she grins saucily and reverses the situation.

It's maddening. It's frustrating. It's driving him mad in all the right kinds of ways.

"Oh, come now, Zan-chan. Surely, you're not tired already?" Benihime taunts him, scarlet eyes glowing like embers. She rakes a hand through her hair, as white as snow and setting across her shoulders in bouncing curls.

Sometimes, he finds it hard to believe that she and that perverted shopkeeper are nearly one and the same. Then again, she says the same thing about Ichigo and he all the time. Except for the fact that they are both "sticks-in-the-mud" as Benihime so elegantly puts it.

Zangetsu inwardly snorts. Some princess. She is as royal in behavior as Shihouin Yoruichi. And twice as devious, he suspects.

His eyes narrow behind the sunglasses as he picks up his blade once more and swiftly crosses the ground in a sprint. She ever-so-casually lifts her own sword, meeting his attack head-on. Almost lazily. That smile never leaves her lips, her eyes continuing to sparkle.

"I am always ready to face off against you, my dear," Zangetsu retorts over the sound of their blades clashing, the ringing echoing in the air.

She laughs, a delightful sound, each twist of her sword an expert move that he admires greatly. Benihime's swordplay is like a dance, at least to Zangetsu, and he always enjoys watching her move. Perhaps it is such watching that always serves to be his downfall.

He never wins. And now is to be no exception.

Benihime twists around, blade slicing towards his head. Zangetsu whirls to avoid and fails to spot the sheathe that strikes out from her other hand. The blunt end slams into his belly, pushing out a great gust of air.

Momentarily stunned, Zangetsu stumbles, and it is all the falter that Benihime needs to take advantage of him. In a flash, the flat of her sword smacks against his hand, causing him to drop his own. And then, she all but tackles him and bears Zangetsu down to the windowed ground below him with a loud grunt.

He briefly sees stars as her body slams against his, softness to his hard angles. He is effectively trapped beneath her weight, not that he minds too terribly.

"Pinned you," Benihime sings, all smiles and sparkles as her fingers curl around his wrists, pressing them to the ground.

Zangetsu admits he puts up only a token struggle. She is straddling his hips at the moment, her heat pressed right over him. And Zangetsu can't find himself disappointed by the loss, not when the princess looks down at him like that, a certain promise in her eyes.

She leans over, her pale curls a curtain around them, lips mere inches from his own. "You don't seem too disappointed, Zan-chan."

"A true man knows when to accept that he has been bested," Zangetsu returns, grateful for the shielding the sunglasses give him.

Benihime laughs, breath puffing over his lips and smelling faintly of the sweetness of cherries. "You like nothing better than being under me? Is that it?" she purrs.

"My dear, I cannot think of another place I'd rather be," Zangetsu says, body thrumming in anticipation.

She is terribly close and yet feels so far away, and the distance is aggravating. He wants to close it. And quickly.

She makes a sound in her throat, a noise of agreement that hums erotically. And she leans closer, as though to kiss him. He can practically already taste her.

Until Benihime pauses, pupils dilating. She cocks her head to the side, and even Zangetsu can feel it, the slight change of reiatsu in the space around them. Benihime pulls back, despite the protest that must show on Zangetsu's face. Her hips twist atop his, a maddeningly light touch that does nothing but tease him.

"Looks like Ki-chan's waking up," she says with obviously fake disappointment, her tone a light chirp. "Maybe another time, old man."

And Zangetsu curses as she vanishes, leaving only the heat of her body behind. His wrists tingle where she held them, and the throbbing beneath his cloak can't be ignored. The air still smells faintly of cherries and even more lightly of explosions and candy, just like her other.

"Tease," he accuses loudly, voice echoing around him. Zangetsu promptly ignores the fact that he can hear Shirosaki laughing at him from somewhere nearby.

He and Ichigo are going to have to talk.

* * *

a/n: Okay, so I'm not normally a het person, right? But this pairing just tickles my fancy. I had SO much fun writing it. I really did.

I hope you enjoyed!


	152. Disturbia

**Title: Disturbia**

**Characters: Kenpachi/Shirosaki, Ichigo**

**Ratings: M**

**Warnings: boysex, masturbation, language, blood and violence, crack, OOC, sexual thoughts**

**Words: 1102**

**Description: That's the last time that Ichigo drinks the geta-boushi's tea with Rukia's brownies. **

**Dedication: For **_**Kichiheaven26**_**, who wanted this pairing with lots of blood. I had fun!**

* * *

Two kinds of laughter rang through the air. Both feral. Both elated. Both plum-fucking insane.

The sound joined the noise of swords crashing. Waraji skidding across dirt and rock. Blades ripping through clothing, nicking skin. And more laughter.

"Had enough?" Shirosaki taunted, a splash of blood brightening his otherwise white cheek.

Both eyes wide and bright with thrill, Kenpachi threw his head back and guffawed. He skidded backwards with enough strength to dig furrows into the sandy ground.

"Just gettin' started," he retorted with a fierce grin, and their blades met again.

Sparks flew, the force of the blow reverberating throughout their bodies. Blood spattered the ground. Bits of cloth from their uniforms were scattered widely.

Shirosaki echoed Kenpachi's laughter, voice rising into a shriek that raised the hair on the captain's arms. "King took ya down once already. And I'm much better than he is."

"That was months ago," Kenpachi countered, tongue dragging across his lips as heat infused his body. "'Sides, yer feistier."

"Feisty, is it?" Shirosaki grinned and darted forward, a blur of white clothes and black blade, reiatsu pouring into his zanpakutou and choking the air.

He moved fluidly, blurring through the area, faster than Kenpachi's eyes could follow – both of them since he had long since removed the patch. Reiatsu gathered around the captain in answer, a yellow glow enveloping him, blending with the red and black that curled around his opponent. The air vibrated with power; their blades rattled with it.

A _getsuga tenshou_ sliced through the sky, called without words, and slammed into Kenpachi. He brought his sword up to defend, preventing a killing blow, but went flying backwards from the force of the attack nonetheless. He collided with a boulder, snapping against it. And then, Shirosaki was there, pressed all against Kenpachi, blade held to the captain's bare throat.

"I'll show ya feisty," Shirosaki half-growled, half-purred. And he slammed his mouth over Kenpachi's, more of an attack than a kiss.

Shirosaki sucked Kenpachi's lower lip into his mouth, gnawed lightly on it, and then jabbed his tongue past the man's lips and teeth. Kenpachi – not one to readily submit – returned the invasion with a counterattack of his own, his tongue stabbing at Shirosaki's. His free hand grasped a handful of white hair, refusing to allow the Hollow to retreat or move forward, keeping him in place.

A sound – not unlike an animalistic growl – rattled in Shirosaki's chest. He pressed against Kenpachi, annoyed by the height difference. His hips mashed against the captain's upper thighs, already hard and wanting. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and the taste of it flavored their violent exchange.

Swords clattered to the ground, abandoned in favor of a different kind of battle. Shirosaki shoved a hand between their bodies, aggressively palming Kenpachi's arousal, just as hard as his own. The Hollow's hips churned forwards, anxiously seeking stimulation, even as their kiss ended with twin gasps and the smacking of mouths.

Shirosaki attacked Kenpachi's throat, lapping up a streak of blood before he sunk his teeth into tanned skin and corded muscle. The captain merely grunted, his hardness leaping against Shirosaki's palm. The hand in white hair tightened, pulling at an equally white scalp and making heat skitter down his spine.

"Ya gonna eat me, Hollow?" Kenpachi asked. Trapped between a wall of stone and a wall of hard, pale flesh. He shuddered, lust for sex replacing his lust for blood and battle.

A rough tongue dragged across Kenpachi's throat. "I'm considerin' it," Shirosaki replied with a hoarse chuckle, grinding against the warmth in front of him. "'Specially if ya don't start participatin'."

Kenpachi laughed, free hand grasping at his adversary and squeezing. "Ya want me to fuck ya?"

"Maybe I'll be the one doin' the fuckin'," Shirosaki purred in return, rubbing the heel of his palm against Kenpachi's groin.

He dragged his mouth upwards and attacked Kenpachi's lips once again. Their tongues dueled and tangled, bodies straining and pushing together as clothes fell by the wayside. The smell of sex mixed with the scent of blood and battle, and a lusty groan danced in the air. Heat fought against desire and swelled further, and… and…

And with a start, Ichigo jerked awake. Wide-eyed, vaguely disturbed, and strangely enough aroused as hell. He panted, staring up at his ceiling, as the images continued to burn through the back of his mind.

What. The. _Fuck_.

Ichigo slapped a hand over his face, covering his eyes as he groaned. What in the hell had prompted that sort of dream? A sex dream? Of his Hollow? And _Kenpachi__?_ Was his subconscious trying to tell him something?

His groin certainly seemed to think so, having not lost any rigidity for the sudden awakening. In fact, it called to him with increasing insistence and throbbed beneath the covers.

Rolling over, Ichigo cursed as he shoved a hand beneath his body, curling fingers around his rampant arousal. He conjured up mental images, anything to chase away the lingering memory of Kenpachi and Shirosaki _all but fucking_ in his dreams. He had the feeling it wouldn't take long, not with him already on the edge.

Rukia in that short dress of hers, dainty legs lithe and bared...

Ishida's nimble fingers dancing along the edge of his bow with his dark hair whipping across his pale face…

Renji without his top as they spar, sweat beading down his tattooed skin…

Inoue leaping to intercept a volleyball in that pathetically tight cotton shirt...

The geta-boushi's mischievous grin just inches away as he pressed forward to deliver another taunt…

Yoruichi-san bare-ass naked in the baths, steam curing all around her but not concealing a damn thing…

Byakuya in that oh-so-thin hospital robe, the lines of his body barely concealed...

Rangiku-san about to burst from the confines of her shirt as she leans forward...

The sharp taste of Kenpachi's sweat on his tongue...

Ichigo climaxed with a groan buried in the softness of his pillow, spilling all over his fingers. Panting, he soaked in the last tremors and then snatched the box of tissue from his desk, cleaning himself with irritated movements.

He clenched his teeth as the images refused to fade. Feeling himself start to stir again and hating it as much as he enjoyed it.

And that was the _last _damn time he would _ever _mix the geta-boushi's tea and Rukia's brownies. Especially before bed. And especially when his Hollow was already feeling frisky.

Clearly, the side-effects weren't good for him. Not at all.

* * *

a/n: To say that I had fun writing this would be an understatement. I rarely write Ichigo so sexual but damn if it isn't a blast. And I'll definitely write more of him like this. *grins*

I hope you liked!


	153. Uninvited

**Title: Uninvited**

**Characters: Izuru, Ulquiorra, Unohana**

**Ratings: T**

**Warning: spoilers, definitely AU in some way**

**Words: 1,864**

**Description: Ulquiorra wakes, last remembering that he should be dead. **

**Dedication: For **_**abibliophobia**_**, who wanted an Izuru/Ulquiorra.**

* * *

He opens his eyes to a grey ceiling. An _unfamiliar_ grey ceiling. For the extent of his service to Aizen-sama, Ulquiorra has become used to white. It is the color of choice in Las Noches. Everything is white. But the ceiling above him right now is grey.

He is not in Las Noches.

Considering what he last remembers, Ulquiorra isn't surprised. He thought he had died. He distinctly remembers falling to that brat's sword. He remembers fading into ash, cursing Kurosaki with his last thought. Even as he reaches for the woman, wishing for her not to leave as everyone else always has. Then, he recalls a crushing nothingness.

He doesn't remember the grey.

Blinking hurts, feeling like his eyelids pull like sandpaper over his eyes. Ulquiorra does so anyway and finally sucks in a breath, feeling like a man who hasn't done so in centuries. It actually hurts, lungs expanding to accept the air and stretching like muscles never used.

His fingers twitch as he tests them out, and he feels as if he's been steamrolled by Yammy in his resurrección form. But he's alive. Something Ulquiorra has not expected. Or even particularly desired if he thinks about it. He always thought to die in service to Aizen-sama.

His head tips to the side, and he takes in his surroundings. A medical building of some sort. Sunlight pours through a curtain-covered window. He thinks that he can hear the sound of a bird chirping. Ulquiorra is certain he is no longer in Hueco Mundo at all. He can't for the life of him think of anyone who would try to save his life. Or where he could possibly be.

Most of all, he can sense reiatsu. A lot of it. Thrumming in the very walls around him. And it isn't familiar. It's lighter. Not as sharp or fierce. _Shinigami_. Ulquiorra is struck with the understanding that he is somehow in the custody of the Shinigami.

Voices are higher just beyond his closed door. Shadows visibly move beneath it. Someone is standing on the other side, no doubt intending to enter. Closing his eyes, Ulquiorra feigns sleep, mind still a jumbled mess of confusion.

The door slides open quietly, and the footsteps that enter are even softer. Bare whispers across a clean floor. At least, judging by the sharp scent of antiseptic, Ulquiorra assumes they are clean. He can't imagine dirt of any kind lasting long here.

The visitor is definitely Shinigami. Ulquiorra can sense the quiescent reiatsu. Lieutenant level at least. With an edge to it that faintly resembles Ulquiorra's own. The Shinigami smells of something sweet and sorrowful. Interesting.

Ulquiorra senses the presence drawing nearer. Too near in fact. Hovering right over him.

Cyan eyes snap open as Ulquiorra reacts, hand snatching the fingers that had stretched towards his face. The Arrancar looks up into startled blue eyes, set in a pale face framed by long strands of blond hair.

"I'm sorry," his visitor says quickly. Softly. Heat staining his cheeks in obvious embarrassment.

Ulquiorra's hand squeezes warningly. "What do you think you are doing?" he demands, feeling weak and vulnerable, two emotions he dares to hate.

"I..." The Shinigami – who now seems somewhat familiar – curls his fingers back towards himself and retreats a step once Ulquiorra finally releases him. "Your eyes... you look like you're crying."

Ulquiorra twitches. It's nothing he hasn't heard before. For some reason, he takes offense to it when it comes from this man. This Shinigami whose own drooping eyes and gloomy expression give off the same desolate look as when Ulquiorra glances in the mirror.

"So do you," he retorts, fingers tingling as they recall the warmth of the Shinigami's hand. Ulquiorra himself is always cold, but just a single touch of the man's skin reminds him of something called warmth.

The blond winces. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

"Do you apologize for everything?" Ulquiorra asks because that's the second time in as many minutes an apologize has come forth. And it's the second time in Ulquiorra's existence a Shinigami has said such words to him. An Arrancar and an Espada to boot.

Blue eyes blink. "I... What?"

Ulquiorra chooses to let that pass. He focuses instead on the confusion that has been blanketing him from the moment he woke.

"Why am I alive?" he demands, and there's something in the other male's posture that denotes a desire to flee. Yet, he stays.

Why?

"I don't know," the Shinigami says, and he fiddles with his uniform, palms rubbing across the top of his thighs. "Why are any of us?" His voice turns softer. Thoughtful.

It isn't the answer that Ulquiorra anticipated. He expects to be told to take his second chance for what it is – a new lease on life. Or that he is here to face some sort of trial, to be judged and most likely executed. Or that he should consider himself lucky. He doesn't expect such a lackluster response.

"Who are you?" Ulquiorra repeats, something strange inside of him surging to life. This desperate desire to _know._ Understand even.

There is no hesitation. "Kira Izuru, vice-captain of the third division," the now identified Shinigami answers, unexpectedly bold for his meek appearance. "I came to ask you something."

Ulquiorra snorts. His fingers twitch. Body still feeling like one giant black-and-green bruise.

"I have no answers that you cannot find for yourself," he says, even as he ponders.

The name sounds familiar. Ulquiorra asks himself why. He tries to place it in a memory that's suddenly shadowed and full of holes.

Then, he remembers listening to Ichimaru-sama once upon a time. The silver-haired man had been standing on the balcony, overlooking the sands of Hueco Mundo. He'd asked Ulquiorra about loyalty. And... regret? Ulquiorra wishes he could remember better. But he does recall Ichimaru-sama mentioning a name. Izuru-chan. His lieutenant.

Perhaps that is why Kira is here? To ask after his former captain?

Not that Ulquiorra would know much. He had tried to maintain a certain distance from the constantly smiling man. His adulation had always been for Aizen-sama alone.

"You want to know where Ichimaru-sama is, do you not?" Ulquiorra asks in return, and he knows he's struck gold when Kira stiffens.

He watches as Kira's hands clamp onto his knees in obvious restraint. "He disappeared during the final battle. And it's been weeks."

Ulquiorra can't help but wonder what ties bind the former captain and vice-captain together. They must be frayed by now, barely clinging by thin threads. Why does Kira care so much for a man who betrayed and abandoned him?

"You are asking the wrong person. If anyone would know, I would guess Luppi, but that option is beyond you." Ulquiorra inwardly scowls thinking of the effeminate former Espada. He finds it incredibly hard to mourn his defeat. He had thought even less of Luppi than he did of Grimmjow, and that says a good deal.

He doesn't know why Kira has asked him anyway. Ulquiorra remembers being killed. He doesn't recall the end of the battle. He assumes that Aizen-sama was defeated considering his current position, but he doesn't know how or by whom.

Crestfallen, Kira's shoulders slump. "I find it hard to believe that Aizen didn't have some sort of backup plan. For if he should fail."

"Aizen-sama never intended or considered the possibility of failure," Ulquiorra says sharply, surprised himself by the vehemence in his tone. "If Ichimaru-sama ran during the battle, that is his choice and nothing to do with Aizen-sama."

It is Kira's turn to bristle, gaze turning sharp. "Taich-- Ichimaru-san didn't run. And he's not dead either." Blue eyes flash. "If you don't know, it's probably because you weren't important enough for Aizen to tell."

_Touché_, Kira. Clearly, Ulquiorra has underestimated this Shinigami. Initially taken for weak, he can't think so simply anymore. There is a fire behind those eyes.

"And if Ichimaru-sama isn't dead and hasn't contacted you, he likely does not care," Ulquiorra counters. "After all, it is he who first abandoned Soul Society."

The "_and you"_ goes unspoken but implied.

Silence sweeps into the room, riding on the tails of tension.

It is abruptly broken by the sound of the door opening, and Kira's head swings towards it with the look of someone caught in an act of disobedience. A woman enters, wearing the heavy and white haori of a captain. Her smile is pleasant but somehow fierce.

"I see you have been keeping our guest company, Kira-fukutaichou," she says, bustling into the room with the busied air of a doctor with too many patients and not enough hands. "Though I seem to recall a certain edict stating this room to be off limits."

Kira pales and rises to his feet. "I apologize, Unohana-taichou, but--"

She waves him off, already moving to Ulquiorra's bedside with an intent to examine in her posture. He doesn't like the look of her already.

"Well, it appears no harm has been done," she dismisses with a wave. "But I do think your division misses your presence, don't you?"

There is a command hidden in those words, and Kira doesn't fail to catch them.

"Yes, taichou."

Kira turns, hastening to obey the stern-faced woman with kind eyes, and Ulquiorra catches a glimpse of the blond's armband. He knows that it is a vice-captain's badge; Aizen-sama had explained as much to him. But he is more intrigued by the flower etched into the wood. He recognizes it and can't help but think of it as appropriate for this solemn-faced man.

"A marigold," Ulquiorra murmurs without thinking, drawing attention back towards himself.

Kira pauses, one hand unconsciously rising to trace the contours of the carved wood. "It's the symbol of our division."

"Despair..." Ulquiorra locks eyes with him. "It suits you."

He watches as another heated flush steals into the blond's cheeks, probably wondering whether to consider it compliment or insult. Kira looks at him, expression unreadable. And then, he tilts his head in parting.

"Thank you," he says. Then, he's gone.

What a strange thing to show appreciation for. Ulquiorra finds himself intrigued by this blond with a gloomy expression but an unexpected backbone.

A sound in the silence reminds him of the captain's presence, and Ulquiorra's gaze flicker her direction. She smiles at him without hesitation, eyes crinkling at the corners and giving an impression of gentleness. It should seem false coming from a Shinigami but somehow genuine from her. And he allows her examination with his normal stoicism. Mind and thoughts elsewhere.

Not wondering after his fate as he should be. Or even his circumstances. The reason behind his survival, which undoubtedly has to do with that woman and her strange powers.

Instead, his thoughts are otherwise occupied. Focused on the outline of a flower and blue eyes that flash with the hottest kind of fire. The understanding that the vice-captain will surely return in the near future. And the realization that Ulquiorra almost looks forward to it.

* * *

a/n: This pairing was... interesting to write, I should say. I see a lot of similarities between the two men, but also a lot of differences. I think it might be interesting to explore in the future. Should I get another idea. And yeah, there were only hints of a possible pairing in here. My bad. Still, I hope you enjoyed!


	154. ADA Accepted

**Title: ADA Accepted**

**Characters: Uryuu and Pesche**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, light spoilers, crack, OOC**

**Words: 603**

**Description: Some days, Uryuu felt that he lived in a really bad shoujo – or worse ****shounen-ai**** – manga. **

**Dedication: For **_**Infernum**_**, who wanted an accidental kiss between the two. **

* * *

Uryuu was exhausted. Why did he always get stuck with the female opponents? But it wasn't even Cirucci that was the problem. No, dealing with her had been the easiest part.

But putting up with Pesche's stupidity? It was like being partnered with an amalgam of Asano and Honshou Chizuru. A thought most shudder-worthy.

Pesche flitted around him, rejoicing in their – _Uryuu's_ – victory. Performing his stupid little dance of joy.

_Annoying_. Supremely so.

Strained and stressed, Uryuu gathered himself together, determined to continue their quest. He pushed tiredly past the Arrancar, wishing for not the first time that he had listened to Ryuuken, bastard though his father was. Associating with Shinigami was proving to be a not-good thing. Not good at all.

What happened next seemed to occur in all a rush and yet in slow-motion as well.

Pesche clamped a hand down on Uryuu's shoulder, laughing loudly. And Uryuu turned to remove the offending touch. His foot slid in some remnants of Ultimate Slick, and he stumbled. His other foot shot out for balance and skidded across a piece of banana peel, which had mysteriously placed itself on the floor.

Arms pinwheeled. Uryuu scrambled to catch himself and grabbed hold of Pesche, entirely by mistake. The Arrancar – holding little grace himself – tumbled forward, pulled down as Uryuu's feet slid out from under him. They collapsed atop each other in an ungainly heap. Uryuu somehow sprawled atop the thin Arrancar.

And in a more startling conclusion, their lips collided. And Uryuu opened his eyes to find himself kissing Pesche.

_Kissing_ Pesche.

It was mercifully brief as the moment Uryuu realized his predicament, he tore his lips away and threw his body to the side, never minding that he was rolling across all kinds of dirt and debris. Scrabbling to his feet, Uryuu furiously scrubbed his hand over his mouth, unable to wipe away the feeling of Pesche's lips against his. The strangely warm bone of his mask and the hardness of his body.

"Ichigo!" Pesche called him by the wrong name _yet again_. "I didn't know you cared!" He leapt to his feet in a startling display of agility, throwing out his arms wide. "Come to my embrace. We can be bosom buddies!"

"Mouthwash," Uryuu yelped, backtracking so quickly he almost tripped on his own feet. "I need mouthwash." He frantically looked around. "Does anybody have any Listerine?" He felt a little desperate.

It didn't help that Pesche continued to advance. Uryuu swore that hearts danced above the Arrancar's head. It was the sort of thing that wasn't supposed to happen in reality. And where the hell had that banana peel come from? It was like there was some god out there, laughing at Uryuu, gleefully delighting in his mortification.

Uryuu fled Pesche, hoping inside himself that the Arrancar would not follow. Would not ask again for Uryuu to accept his… well, anything really.

There were days that Uryuu truly felt he lived in a bad shoujo manga. He was surrounded my men – most of which he could admit were attractive to a certain degree and even more that were effeminate. And what few women he associated with were all in love with the same dumb, blind, and most likely _gay_ idiot.

But this... _this _had stepped into shounen-ai territory. And Uryuu was having none of it.

He ran. He ran, and he never looked back. And when he collided with Abarai and Dondochakka, Uryuu had never been more grateful to see the pineapple-headed moron in their entire association.

Later, Uryuu blamed it on the random appearance of half-consumed produce. Pesche claimed that it was fate. That it was their _destiny_.

And Uryuu countered with a strident desire to forget and never, ever remember again.

* * *

AN: I utterly fail at writing Pesche. Pesche and Uryuu both. But I tried. I honestly did. This one stumped me for MONTHS until Azar kicked my procrastinating rear.

Eh heh. Well, I hope you got some enjoyment out of it!


	155. Watching

**Title: Watching**

**Characters: Ichigo/Zangetsu, Shirosaki**

**Rating: M **

**Warning: boysex and kisses, voyeurism, solo, kink**

**Words: 1189**

**Description: And really, this brings self-love to a whole new level.**

**Dedication: To **_**ChaosNightMoonlightKiller**_**, who wanted this pairing with a Hichigo voyeur. And to **_**IronDog**_**, who writes the best Shirosaki EVER. **

* * *

He licked his lips, eyes trained on the sight before him. Even as his pale fingers curled around his arousal, already rosy with need. His thumb swiped over the tip, beading with liquid, throbbing in his grip.

Shirosaki avidly watched as Ichigo pinned the old man beneath him, lips dropping hungry kisses over Zangetsu's collarbone. Ichigo's hips rocked against Zangetsu's even as the old man's hands tangled in orange hair. Their bodies moved together, skin slipping and sliding.

They had to know that he was watching. And that he'd done it several times before. But neither the king nor Zangetsu had ever said anything. Had ever stopped their lusty pursuits to berate him. So Shirosaki assumed he had permission, and his perverted fantasies focused on the off chance of getting to join them one day. He wanted to see his king writhing beneath him so badly that the thought burned his blood. Though watching this was just as good.

His fingers moved over himself. And Shirosaki focused on them again, eating up their actions with his eyes.

Ichigo's hips rolled against Zangetsu's own, their rigid cocks sliding together and eliciting deep groans. Shirosaki groaned with them, dragging his bottom lip into his mouth and chomping down on it. His hips rocked into his fingers; he could feel his pulse in his throbbing length. And they hadn't done much of anything. Just the sliding of their bodies together, the contrasting skin tones, the lithe lines of muscle and power was enough to entice him.

He watched as Zangetsu thrust his tongue into Ichigo's mouth, mimicking what the king would be doing to him soon enough. Ichigo groaned, hand slapping against the mattress, and someday, Shirosaki would have to get them to show him how to appear in the real world like Zangetsu did. Ichigo's other hand glided down the man's side – surprisingly fit for an old man – until his fingers hooked around Zangetsu's thigh.

Chewing on his lip, Shirosaki worked his cock aggressively. He shoved the edges of his shitagi aside, baring his chest to the air. The fingers of his free hand danced up his bare, muscled abdomen. And his palm rubbed hotly over one nipple, sending shocks of pleasure down his spine.

"Shit yeah," Shirosaki huffed to himself.

His eyes locked on Ichigo and Zangetsu as the former drew back, pushing forward on the latter's leg at the same time. Hands fell from disarrayed orange hair. They shared a look, said something that Shirosaki didn't bother to catch. He didn't care about the words. He only cared about the hot action.

Ichigo's own tongue dragged over his lips, pink and wet. His hips rocked forwards, Zangetsu rising to meet his slow thrust. A bead of sweat gathered on the Vizard's temple, his heavy breathing in time to Shirosaki's own. And Zangetsu, the bastard, was like ice. Flushed from want but holding to his composure. Even when Ichigo pushed himself into Zangetsu, the old man barely flinched. Only slipped out a quiet moan that reverberated erotically in Shirosaki's ears.

He closed his eyes, keying himself to Ichigo and a shudder ran through him as sensations poured through his body. _Hot and tight and slick and __**damn**__, this felt good__**. **_Shirosaki all but moaned, hips rocking into his fist as liquid seeped from the head of his cock. He smeared it over the pale column of flesh, feeling a fire in his belly.

Peeling his eyes back open, Shirosaki watched as Ichigo thrust into Zangetsu with abandon, the old man able to take the penetrating jabs without a single complaint. He reached up and forced Ichigo down to meet his lips, the sound of their mouths smacking wetly inciting Shirosaki's desire even more.

Black-tipped fingers grabbed his own peaked nipple. Shirosaki pinched it, hard, let the shock of pleasure dance through his body. He rolled the nub with his fingers, certain he was close. His breath came in harsh pants that echoed Ichigo and Zangetsu's as their tongues tangled lewdly.

Best show ever. And he didn't have to pay a single dime for it.

Heat flushing his entire body, Shirosaki surged into his grip, matching the movement of his hips to theirs. He thrust into his fingers as Ichigo thrust into Zangetsu, imagining his own cock plunging into that tight heat.

He thought of his king pinned beneath him, skin flushed and mouth open as he panted. Ichigo's body twisting and writhing and Shirosaki's lips and tongue devouring bronzed skin. The Vizard trying to reach for his own cock, but Shirosaki knocking his hand away because Ichigo would come only when he let him and not a moment before.

Shirosaki would watch as Ichigo twitched and panted, moaned helplessly. And no doubt Zangetsu would be watching them too, amber eyes burning holes into their nearly identical forms. He would be lazily stroking himself. Or maybe Shirosaki would invite him over, allowing the old man to take advantage of Ichigo's lips.

Yeah, that sounded good, too. Shirosaki wanted it in a bad, bad way. He wanted it so badly he could almost hear Ichigo's groans in his ear. In stereo with reality as Ichigo thrust into Zangetsu harder and harder, angling towards his release.

Shirosaki stared, watching as the muscles in Ichigo's butt flexed. As his fingers clenched and unclenched. As sweat beaded across bronzed skin. He imagined his own skin in contrast against Ichigo's, plunging over and over into clamping heat.

The Hollow twisted his nipple hard. And with a groan, he arched, spilling all over his fingers. Liquid warmth covered his hand and on the edge of his senses, he heard Ichigo and Zangetsu as they moaned and spilled their loads.

_Immensely_ satisfied, Shirosaki lazily sat back. His fingers trailed carefully over his sated shaft. His entire body thrummed with lingering pleasure. He watched as Ichigo and Zangetsu slowly kissed.

A mattress squeaked as Ichigo shifted and brown eyes glanced around. The king finally acknowledged Shirosaki's presence.

_Pervert_, he accused, directing the words to his inner mind. He'd gotten better at that.

"Stuff it, _aibou_," Shirosaki threw back with a lazy smirk, dragging his tongue over his soiled fingers. "You knew I was watchin'. Mebbe next time I can join."

Stretching, Ichigo flopped back against his bed, seemingly unashamed of his nudity. "In your dreams." He snorted.

"Every night," Shirosaki said, the taste of his own spunk on his tongue. "I'll have you beggin' fer me soon enough."

"Or perhaps you will be the one to beg." Zangetsu appeared behind Shirosaki, fully dressed and looking unruffled for his recent activity.

Stretching out across the ground, Shirosaki just closed his eyes and smirked. "Maybe, maybe not. You'll have ta invite me ta find out though."

* * *

a/n: So, so, so sorry for the wait, guys. I've had major computer trouble, as in my laptop has DIED. I'm presently working on my mother's until I can afford a new one. Or afford to get mine fixed. So in the meantime, updates aren't going to be as frequent. I don't know when I'll be able to get another.... April perhaps? It's up in the air at this point since I'm sorta between jobs...

Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this request. It came to me in all a rush. lol

Also, if you've made a request a while back and have yet to see it, don't worry, I still have a list. I haven't forgotten. It's just a VERY LONG list so it takes me some time to get to all of them.

Well, I hope you enjoyed. I can't say when the next update will be, but I'll try to get it to you as soon as I can. Thanks for your patience!


	156. Chasing Cars

**Title: Chasing Cars**

**Characters: Urahara/Stark, Yoruichi **

**Rating: T**

**Warning: AUish, boykisses, slight OOC, light fluff**

**Words: 1007**

**Description: Stark rather likes the view here, and he doesn't just mean the star-filled sky.**

**Inspired by the song of the same name by Snow Patrol.  
**

**Dedication: For **_**DorkChic**_**, who wanted this pairing. **

**AN: An addendum and/or vague continuation of **_**Dying Light**_** by Lady Azar.**

* * *

His geta clack across the ground. It is mostly bare this time of year, though a few hardy strands of grass linger.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice soft and pleasant.

From the ground, grey eyes flicker towards Kisuke. "Lie down beside me and see," Stark suggests and gestures to the empty spaces on either side of him.

The blond cocks his head to the side and admires the sight of his lover stretched out across the dirt. The length of his yukata barely covers his legs.

"Why does that sound perverted to my ears?"

"Kisuke, everything sounds perverted to your ears," Stark says with a laugh as his gaze shifts back to staring above him. Seemingly uncaring to the strangeness of his position. In the semi-darkness of Kisuke's yard, Stark is stretched out on the ground on his back with one knee pulled up.

The shopkeeper chuckles, hand briefly touching the rim of his hat. "How very true," he says, coming to a halt just beside his lover as he looks down. "Seriously though, what are you doing?"

Stark folds an arm behind his head, flicking his eyes to the blond. "Lie down beside me and see." He grins crookedly.

Sighing, Kisuke decides to humor the ex-Espada. He kicks off his geta and lowers himself to the chilly dirt beside Stark. He's close enough that the Arrancar's arm brushes against his, the heat from Stark's body tangible. Laying back, Kisuke wisely removes his hat and places it on his chest for safekeeping. In this position, he has no choice but to look up. And when he does, he feels a smile stretch his lips.

So this is what has captured Stark's eyes.

The darkness of night stretches far above them, and stars twinkle like diamonds in the endless black. A hazy mist of clouds streak across the sky, occasionally concealing some of the stars. But otherwise, providing a perfect counterpoint. Kisuke can even pick out a few constellations gleaming brightly.

It is quite the sight.

"And here, I thought this was just a new way for you to slack off," the shopkeeper murmurs.

Stark chuckles, hand sliding over and brushing against Kisuke's fingers. "I prefer to call it 'sleeping with style.'"

A noncommittal hum vibrates in Kisuke's throat. "It _is_ beautiful."

"In Hueco Mundo... the sky is always black," Stark begins as a wind ruffles against them, stirring their clothing and bringing with it a chill and the faintest scent of the flowers from the garden. "Completely and utterly black with nothing but an unchanging moon to break the monotony."

There is a hint of despondence in Stark's tone. Not one of regret and longing but of lingering loneliness. The same which had driven him to Aizen's clutches in the first place. And then ultimately away from them.

"And you like the sky here better?" It's formed as a light inquiry, but somehow, Kisuke's voice carries a hint of unease.

Fingers curl around the blond's, slightly cold from Stark's longer exposure to the elements. "Much," he affirms. "Sometimes, I feel like I can lie down and sleep here forever."

"And other times?"

Kisuke's feels his hand being gently squeezed, warmth suffusing into Stark. "Other times, I can think of better things to do than sleep."

A smile stretches Kisuke's lips. And something skips ridiculously light through his chest, a lot like happiness.

"Once again," he murmurs with a grin, "I'm hearing something perverted."

Stark chuckles and rubs a thumb over his knuckles. "I meant it that time."

Kisuke rises to an elbow as he looks over at Stark. There's a teasing smile on the edge of the Arrancar's lips, an open invitation if the blond ever saw one. He leans over, sealing his lips over another pair, tasting the candies Stark has grown fond of pilfering from his shop. Stark's tongue slips out to meet his, touching Kisuke's briefly before sliding along to deepen the kiss. One hand lifts, tangling in blond hair, refusing to let the ex-captain retreat. Not that he would have.

The hat slips to the dusty ground as Kisuke's other hand skims across Stark's chest, firm beneath the thin covering of blue yukata. The cloth has gaped a little, allowing the blond to slide beneath the fabric, palm pressing hot against Stark's warm chest. His fingers gently explore familiar territory as something rumbles in the Arrancar's chest and vibrates through Kisuke's palm.

Hungry for more, his mouth abandons Stark's lips, skimming over the brunet's jawline before dimming lower. His lips travel over the white bone ringing Stark's collar. It is always warm to the touch, as though it were mere skin and not bone. He elicits a moan from his lover, so familiar but so heartachingly wonderful at the same time. Kisuke's teeth skim across the white bone and travel to the vulnerability of the former Espada's throat, tasting lightly of sweat but otherwise sweet. Fingers slide through Kisuke's hair until they cup his skull, less insistent and more permissive.

Stark chuckles. "I thought I was the Arrancar. Why do I get the feeling you're the one going to eat me?"

The blond's hand cleverly pushes aside more of the yukata, revealing a bare shoulder that calls to his lips as well. Kisuke breathes against Stark's throat, his breath a warm puff that makes his lover shiver.

"Would you mind it so much?"

His response is low and vibrating, husky. "I've never really been into exhibitionism, but if that's your kink, I'm willing to give it a try."

Kisuke pauses mid-gnaw, his teeth grazing across tanned skin. "Exhibitionism?"

"Like the audience currently watching from the back porch," Stark continues, amusement ripe in his tone.

"Oh, don't mind me!" Kisuke hears Yoruichi's bemused voice echo through the night. "I'm just waiting for it to get good."

Kisuke groans, laying his forehead against Stark's collar and very effectively ending his lusty advances. "I'm going to kill her."

Stark snorts. "No, you won't."

"Maim her a little then," he counters.

The Arrancar outright laughs then and abruptly sits up, the change in position bringing their faces wonderfully close. His grayish blue eyes are bright, even in the darkness. Stark's tongue drags across his lips.

"You could do that," he says and lifts a hand, pressing a warm palm against Kisuke's cheek. "Or we could retreat to the privacy of your bedroom. Frankly, I'm voting for the latter."

As Stark's mouth falls over his, Kisuke couldn't agree more.

* * *

a/n: Another request completed! Huzzah! I feel successful. I'm doing my best to get more and more of these out, but my original works are occupying my time at the moment. Don't worry, though. I haven't forgotten. I hope you enjoyed!


	157. Unwanted Advances

**Title: Unwanted Advances**

**Characters: Byakuya/Renji, Shunsui**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Spoilers? Light hints of boylove**

**Words: 1936**

**Description: Companion piece to my single one-shot **_**Hero Worship**_**. Byakuya finds himself unable to let go. **

**Dedication: To **_**Emzzzz**_**, who wanted this pairing, though I doubted she wanted something this angsty. Apologies!**

* * *

He is sitting at his desk, organizing his recently completed stack of paperwork, when a rap of knuckles across his door announces his visitor. Byakuya frowns and concentrates, the hum of a strong reiatsu buzzing at the edge of his senses. Kyouraku. He cannot help but wonder why the older captain would wander to the sixth division.

"You may enter," he calls out and sets aside his work for the moment.

It must be something important, Byakuya has decided, for the sixth division is one of the last places that he can imagine Kyouraku coming to hide from his own vice-captain. He much prefers Ukitake-senpai's leniency or the noise of the eleventh.

The door slides open, and Kyouraku steps inside with a careful smile on his lips. "Afternoon, Byakuya-san. Wonderful weather we're having, isn't it?" The door closes behind him, concealing their conversation from any listening ears.

Grey eyes flicker to the window where a mild winter storm has bathed the land in a fall of white. "Unmatched," he responds dryly and gestures to an empty seat. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"What?" Kyouraku grins. "I can't come visit my favorite captain?"

"Second only to Ukitake-senpai, I presume," Byakuya returns, even more certain that something must be happening.

Kyouraku is rarely this... _casual_, for lack of a better word. There is a hint of planning behind those hazel eyes, a glint of the true man rather than the lazy lush that he portrays to the world.

Kyouraku chuckles and lowers himself to the chair, pink haori fluttering around him. He lifts a hand, removing his usual straw hat from his head, laying it to the side. Byakuya is even surer now, as the lack of headwear grants a seriousness to the man's expression.

"Jyuu-chan is different," Kyouraku corrects, and then, he looks at Byakuya. Simply looks at him as though he is supposed to know the precise reason behind this visit.

Which, of course, he doesn't. But even Byakuya can recognize a verbal game when he sees one. There is a splash of formality to this impromptu visit.

"Senpai has always been," Byakuya agrees and focuses his intent gaze on the older captain, silently prompting for him to state his true purpose. It is unusual for Kyouraku to name himself the serious one in any conversation, but perhaps this is something he could not have foisted on Ukitake-senpai.

Kyouraku seems to realize that the opening has been given. He looks at Byakuya, eyes sharp and unrelenting.

"You need to let Renji-kun go" is what he says without a sense of preamble to him at all.

Byakuya blinks, a pointed thought striking through him and stealing his composure. "I... Excuse me?" Inside, he is reeling.

Just what does Kyouraku think he has seen? How and why?

He holds onto his emotions with trembling fingers, telling himself that he has done nothing wrong. At least, not legally. Morally perhaps. And his sense of common decency might be considered warped. But he has done nothing to warrant chastisement.

"Don't play dumb with me, Byakuya," Kyouraku drops the honorific. Chastening in a tone one would normally reserve for a disobedient child and not a fellow captain. "It doesn't suit you."

Byakuya works his jaw but plays it safe anyway. He still isn't entirely certain of what the other man is attempting to imply and doesn't wish to reveal himself too early.

"As far as I can tell, my lieutenant is satisfied with his position in the sixth division," he comments loftily. "I have not restrained him from pursuing other interests."

Kyouraku snorts, shifting in his chair with a very planned motion. "I am not talking about work, and you know it. I have seen you both, and I must say that I'm disappointed."

"It is consensual, I assure you," Byakuya returns, and there is a crisp hint to his words, as though the other man has implied it is anything otherwise.

Byakuya would never take another against his will. _Never_. What he and Renji do in the privacy of their own time, away from work, is no one's business but their own. And it bothers him that Kyouraku thinks to stick his nose in it, as if he knows what is better for the both of them more than they do themselves.

He adds, "There is no reason for your concern." And dares Kyouraku to think otherwise. Dares with every fiber of his being, fingers twitching against the desk.

Silence sweeps through the room, tinted by the scent of disturbed cherry blossoms, warring against the swirling tension of Kyouraku's reiatsu. Even Byakuya can tell that the older captain is not defeated. He has not said his piece yet.

"You are his captain, Byakuya-bo," Kyouraku insists. And he tries a much gentler approach this time, as though he's come to some sort of conclusion and thinks he knows what will get through this time around. "That puts you in a position of authority."

Byakuya straightens his back, certain that Kyouraku would never understand, even if he took years to sit and explain it to him. Not that he would.

"Am I breaking some rule? Some law?"

Hazel eyes blink at the unexpected question, which seems distinctly out of place. "If you want to put it that way, then no. But that doesn't make it right either."

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the squirming in his belly. "If I am violating no law, then there is no reason for this discussion," Byakuya states in a tone that implies he will not accept any more arguments. "You're welcome to ask my lieutenant yourself, but I assure you, he will give you the same answer."

"You seem awfully sure of that." Kyouraku's words are almost a challenge.

"Was there anything else?" Byakuya asks, a touch annoyed.

He knows that his terseness might be considered rude, but he doesn't want to hear this anymore. He is not going to change his mind, and it is his business, no one else's. He respects Kyouraku as an occasionally competent captain and as a decent man, but Byakuya has no desires to hear his opinion or chastisement.

Kyouraku rises to his feet, something shadowing his eyes and revealing the disappointment in his gaze. "You'll not hear it," he says softly and places his hat back on his head, a faint smile on his lips that has nothing to do with cheer. "I hope you know what you are doing, Byakuya-bo. I would hate to see you become what you've always despised."

He is curious despite himself. "Oh? And what would that be?" It might actually be amusing to hear.

"Someone who cares for nothing but themselves and their own wants. Someone who does not view others as people but merely possessions." He pauses, sliding out from between desk and chair and stepping towards the door. "A Kuchiki."

And then, Kyouraku is gone in a flutter of pink haori and long, brown hair. Leaving Byakuya alone to his thoughts.

He snorts to himself, shifting his gaze to the stack of paperwork on his desk, only awaiting a quick trip by messenger to their appropriate places. He wonders if Kyouraku has conveniently forgotten that Byakuya already is a Kuchiki. It is in his blood. He can no more separate himself from that noble house than he can deny Senbonzakura.

And he doesn't have the words to tell Kyouraku that his warnings are far, far too late.

Byakuya retracts a sigh and returns his attention to his work, which is more important than personal issues at the moment.

"Renji?"

Seconds later, he hears wood creaking as his lieutenant rises from his own desk and pops his head in the doorway. "Sir?"

Byakuya points to the papers on his desk, resisting the urge to linger a glance at Renji's features, the dark lines snaking across his skin. The fall of bright red hair. The gleam of determination and resolve in cherry-amber eyes. He can see why others would consider his vice-captain an attractive man. There is something alluring about him. And his loyalty and gruff kindness to others is very admirable.

"These need to be delivered to the first division," he says instead.

"Ah, yessir."

Understanding lights his vice-captain's eyes, and he nods, fully entering the room and moving to the desk to pick them up. Byakuya can see the curiosity practically rolling off of him, as though he's desperate to ask why Kyouraku had been here. But Renji also knows better than to do so, and therefore, he doesn't. He merely scoops the papers into his arms and prepares to take them from the office.

"And Renji?"

He looks up, for the first time meeting Byakuya's gaze evenly. They play their parts well when in the office, never revealing to prying eyes that there might be more beneath the surface. Again, Byakuya wonders how Kyouraku had found out. Surely, Renji didn't tell him. Or anyone else who might have done so.

"You are free tonight, yes?" It is almost more a statement than a question.

Renji swallows thickly and inclines his head. Byakuya is watching too closely to miss the subtle tightening of his fingers around the documents.

"I was goin' ta go drinkin' with Hisagi-senpai and the others, but since 'm pretty broke, I guess not. So yeah, I'm just headin' home."

"I see." Byakuya lowers his eyes to his paperwork and knows that Renji will understand the polite query for what it is, a plan for tonight. "You are free to leave early then. Enjoy your evening."

"Ya, too, taichou," Renji says, and then, he's gone, taking the subtle heat and flame of his reiatsu with him.

Kyouraku's accusations linger in the back of his mind for the rest of the evening. Byakuya knows that the older man is right as he has told himself those very words on many occasions. He knows that his lieutenant deserves better than what Byakuya gives him. And he knows good and well that he's taking advantage of Renji's weaknesses.

Even so, he cannot seem to help himself.

He wishes he were a stronger man. A better man. One able to admit the truth to himself and to Renji. That he isn't walking this same path as before, keeping to the shadows, every move a quiet whisper. Furtively casting about for prying eyes and senses acute to invading reiatsu. How he missed Kyouraku, Byakuya doesn't know. And he doubts he ever will.

He is here once again, as he usually is once or twice a week, always late in the evening. When most of his division is already asleep except for those on their designated patrols. Byakuya knows that Renji is in his quarters this evening. Perhaps he is resting. Perhaps he is sleeping. Byakuya never asks. He just demands without words, and Renji responds every time, knowing what is expected.

Kyouraku's warning rattles through him, but Byakuya is defiant. He walks to a familiar door and isn't surprised when it opens without him having to knock. Renji knows what to expect, can sense him coming as Byakuya has made sure that his vice-captain is able to do so. It is always there that they do this, at Renji's quarters rather than Byakuya's home. His way of distancing himself, Byakuya supposes.

He looks at Renji and knows that he should be a better man and end it right here and now. But the single thought of doing so clenches something Byakuya's chest. He cannot. He _will not_. Those are the feelings that course through him.

Renji is the only one who stays. Who has ever stayed. Has ever seen him as more than a Kuchiki or the head of a noble clan or even a captain.

And Byakuya steps inside, letting the door close behind him.

* * *

a/n: Okay, so admittedly there is not much pairing in here, and it's rather dark and angsty. But I'm fond of it, so I hope everyone enjoys it, too. Thanks!


	158. Maneater

**Title: Maneater**

**Characters: Rukia, Ichigo**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Self-loving, some voyeurism**

**Words: 967**

**Description: In the beginning, there was a closet. And a girl hiding in it. The prequel to the Rukia's Dating Service series. **

* * *

Rukia, phone on silent, idly clicks through the sectors of Karakura and looks for trouble. She knows that there is an alert designed to announce it, but she always feels better checking for herself. Karakura is her assignment after all, and she'll be damned if it falls to pieces under her watch.

One arm folded behind her head in lieu of a pillow, she crosses a leg over her raised knee and nearly hits her other knee on the side of the wall. This damn closet is far too small, but as it is the best in accommodations at the moment, she'll make do. She's tiny enough, she supposes, though she'll be damned if she says that aloud. Like _ever_.

Besides, Ichigo doesn't know she's here yet, and Rukia would like to keep it that way. She still isn't entirely sure what she thinks of the human that has inherited her powers. He's strong and stubborn, sure enough. With an honorable streak that would make him an excellent Shinigami. That damn recklessness would shove him right into the eleventh division, however. Well… maybe.

On the edge of her senses, Rukia hears a click, the sound of a door opening. And she freezes, reducing her breathing to a bare noise in the closet. She strains her ears to listen, her senses – as dulled and weak as they've become – easily pick out that it is Ichigo. She's not sure what he's doing, just poking around his room and muttering under his breath. She hears rustling, so he's probably changing his clothes.

Shrugging to herself, Rukia settles back comfortably. She promises to do just one check through her regions before putting the phone aside for the night.

She wonders when her powers will return. She hates feeling this helpless and having to rely on someone else. Rukia hasn't had to put her fate in someone else's hands for quite some time, and it's an annoyance that sits heavy in her belly. Though the fact that Ichigo could accept her powers and wield them seemingly effortlessly is unusual in itself. Human bodies aren't built to accommodate Shinigami powers, and yet, he doesn't seem to show any ill effects.

Yet.

Karakura safe, Rukia sets aside the phone and folds both arms behind her head, preparing to drift into sleep. No doubt the alarm will strike sometime during the night; best to get her rest while she can. The glow coming from the edges of the closet abruptly ceases as Ichigo turns off the light and casts the closet in total darkness. And then, she hears the bed creak as he drops down into it, muttering to himself something about school and sew-happy bastards.

She's vaguely intrigued but decides it's best not to reflect on that.

A nice silence settles then. There are some noises beyond the room. That of Ichigo's father puttering around doing whatever it is he does and of cars passing outside. But otherwise, it's a nice quiet with the music of Ichigo's breathing and his occasional shift under the covers.

Rukia feels herself drifting, too. Her body is in that wonderful state right before sleep where her limbs are languid and her mind is wandering into various, unimportant areas.

And then, she hears it.

Dark blue eyes snap open. But Rukia freezes.

_Was that just...? _

Her ears pick up the sound again. A low groan. A withdrawn breath. Shifting covers. Squeaking mattress.

Though her mind instantly rushes to the perverted, Rukia stops and tells herself that it could be something as simple as a nightmare. After all, Hollows weren't the norm for Ichigo until he met her. And those things are enough to scare anyone. Not to mention he had come dangerously close to losing his family.

So yes. A nightmare. A perfectly legitimate and normal reaction to the circumstances.

Another groan.

Rukia feels her cheeks heat without her permission. Well, best to get her mind out of the gutter. She'll take a peek, just to remind herself of how foolish she is being.

She rolls over quietly and sticks her littlest finger against the door, pushing it open just an inch. It doesn't even make a sound, doesn't switch to the next groove, just rocks open a tiny portion. Rukia puts one eye to the crack and peers into the room.

She barely stifles her gasp.

It's dark, but thanks to the light directly outside Ichigo's bedroom and gleaming behind the thin curtain, she can see enough. Just the outline really and his face is cast in shadow, but it's enough. By _Kami_, it's _enough_.

That is so not _her_ reaction to a nightmare.

She watches, unable to look away even though she knows that she probably should because this sort of thing should be private especially when the eyes are uninvited. But Ichigo – even at fifteen – is an attractive man, and she has to admit, it's just a bit sexy. Not unlike the one time she caught Renji back in Rukongai. He had blushed so darkly then. Almost darker than his hair.

Ichigo gasps and bites his bottom lip, hand working faster and faster with little technique and all force. He seems to have no interest in teasing himself, in dragging things out, only seeking release. Just like a teenager. A virgin in fact.

Hmm.

Rukia has a thought.

She silently pushes the door shut with her pinky. Rolling over with equal silence, Rukia contemplates. Her ears continue their unintended voyeurism, but like all virgin, teenage boys, Ichigo is done quickly. Tissue is pulled from somewhere, Rukia's sure. And then with a creak, Ichigo rolls over and goes to sleep.

But the thought continues to take hold in Rukia's brain, growing thorns and tendrils, nestling into every crevice. Forming an idea. A plan of action.

And Rukia smiles. _Deviously._

In his sleep, Ichigo shivers.

In various places around Seireitei, many other men do, too.

* * *

a/n: This rather devious idea occurred to me not long ago and I thought it too amusing _not _to share. I hope you enjoyed it as well1


	159. TMI

**Title: TMI**

**Characters: Hanatarou/Renji (vaguely), random guy**

**Rating: T **

**Warning: lusty thoughts, fangirlyness, language, spoilers? **

**Words: 852**

**Description: Hanatarou feels that he knows far more about Abarai Renji than any one man has a right to know.**

**Dedication: To **_**Infernum**_**, who wanted a Renji/Hanatarou. This is what emerged. **

* * *

Thanks to Rikichi, Hanatarou feels he knows everything there is to know about Abarai Renji. His birthday, his blood type, his tattoos and what they mean. His best friends, his worst enemies, his aspirations. The reason for his obsession with sunglasses. The small birthmark on his left hip.

In fact, Hanatarou feels that he knows far more about Abarai Renji than any one man has a right to know. Especially one man who doesn't have quite the same hero-worshipping point of view that Rikichi does. He knows so much about Abarai Renji that at this point, Hanatarou is pretty damn certain that he knows the lieutenant, despite the fact that they've only met like twice. And that's usually when Abarai-fukutaichou is bleeding and Hanatarou is patching him up.

Following this is a noise of gratitude. A pat on the shoulder. A fanged smile before Abarai-fukutaichou hauls himself to his feet and walks jauntily away.

Two encounters. Perhaps more. And Hanatarou can only count the number of times he's had Abarai-fukutaichou on his back. For a purely medical purpose of course, nothing perverted implied. And only those because he has an extra-awareness of the man thanks to his directory of information in the back of his mind.

And thanks to this, he also knows that Abarai Renji has an interesting array of scars on his body. Some are from battle – Hanatarou can probably name those just by looking at them. Some are from a life on the streets. Random stab wounds that were healed by stubborn will rather than an ability to see a healer and the like. Some are from... well, stupidity. Like the small scar on his forehead that is usually hidden by bandanna or sunglasses. One from where he'd gotten drunk, fell in a ditch, and Kira-fukutaichou punished Abarai-san by not using his fourth-division abilities to heal him.

All in all, thanks to Rikichi, Hanatarou has developed a very unhealthy curiosity – perhaps obsession even – with one Abarai Renji. And it's driving him just a little batty. And this so-called unhealthy curiosity is what has him here today, lingering in the sixth division hallway and only pretending to check up on one of their more recently injured members. But in reality, he is craning his neck to peer out the window and watch as Abarai-fukutaichou shows off. He calls it _training_.

Hanatarou watches as Abarai-fukutaichou takes on four of his division members at once. His zanpakutou – Zabimaru, his Abarai-Directory helpfully supplies – flashes in the sunlight. Muscles ripple. Tattoos are coated in sweat. Red hair the color of the dying sunset is tugged by a light breeze.

"Ow!"

Hanatarou winces and apologizes. "Sorry," he says. To his credit, not stammering.

The sixth-division member whose name Hanatarou has completely forgotten in the wake of Abarai Renji just glares at him. And Hanatarou returns to prodding at his cuts and bruises, inwardly commenting to himself that the nameless man will be fine. But if he announces that, he can't stand here and watch Abarai-fukutaichou anymore. At least, not without good reason.

"I think this is going to need stitches," Hanatarou says instead. His eyes are locked on the window where Zabimaru whips through the air, undulating mightily.

"It already _has_ stitches," the Shinigami bit out with a twitch.

"Ah, so it does. More then."

Hanatarou falls silent again.

Outside, Abarai-fukutaichou laughs loudly. He beckons his opponents on and lazily swats away a kidoh that was tossed at him in a vain attempt at making an attack. He snaps his sunglasses down over his nose, fighting off the glare of the sun. But that only makes the tattoos on his forehead stand out more starkly, and if Hanatarou looks closely – very, very closely – he might even be able to see the aforementioned scar.

Hanatarou's eyes track a bead of sweat as it works its way down the side of Abarai-san's neck and into the collar of his shihakushou. And as the vice-captain turns to counter an attack, his shitagi gapes and gives an impressive glimpse of a well-muscled chest and more dark tattoos. Hanatarou drools just a little.

"I think I'm bleeding again," his patient inserts with a moan.

Forcing himself to pay attention, Hanatarou diverts his eyes to the man's wound. He sighs internally. It's only a flesh wound. No doubt Abarai-san wouldn't have complained about it. He would probably be annoyed that it didn't even give him a manly battle scar.

Hanatarou frowns as he applies a little reiatsu, sealing up the torn skin. His eyes want to wander back toward the window, but he stubbornly forces them to his healerly duties.

He can't stop his ears, however. He can hear Abarai-fukutaichou's shouts – _Hoeru_, Zabimaru! – and the battle cries of his subordinates. He can feel the vice-captain's reiatsu tearing through the air with the same aggressive nature as his personality. It's like Abarai-fukutaichou surrounds him, all but wrapped around him.

He shivers. His patient moans in pain. Abarai Renji laughs with triumph outside the window. Hanatarou feels a tightening in his hakama.

This is all Rikichi's damn fault.

* * *

a/n: I actually like this one, finding it pretty damn amusing. Hanatarou can be rather fun to write.

I hope you enjoyed, too! Bit by bit I'm getting these request out!


	160. Tomorrow in a Bottle

**Title: Tomorrow in a Bottle**

**Characters: Aizen/Urahara, Shinji, Rikichi**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: references to character death, boykisses and lovin', spoilers**

**Words: 3818**

**Description: Kisuke recalls the past, even as he wakes up in the present, fighting a future he doesn't want to see. Sequel to **_**Anthem of Our Dying Day**_**. **

**Title was taken from a song by **_**Timbaland **_**and **_**Chad Kroeger. **_

* * *

_Sousuke laughs as Kisuke glares, offended. _

"_It's not strong enough to eat through wood," the blond denies through clenched teeth. _

_Amusement dances in brown eyes as Sousuke pushes his cup of tea far away from him. "Well, it's certainly not palatable, my dear. No wonder everyone in your division refuses to allow you anywhere near the kitchens." _

_Kisuke huffs, indignation crowding in on him. "How the hell do you know about that?" _

"_I have my ways," Sousuke teases and leans across the table, casually pushing aside Kisuke's cup, too. "From now on, I'll do the cooking, ne?" _

"_You're only saying that out of self-defense," Kisuke grumbles. He tries and fails not to be swayed by that easy grin and their growing proximity. _

_Sousuke chuckles again, a sound Kisuke will never tire of hearing. "I happen to value my life, yes. And my sense of taste." He leans closer, breath a warm puff against the captain's lips. "You can't blame me for that, can you, Ki-kun?" _

_He answers by closing the distance between them, sealing their mouths together. Sousuke makes an aborted noise of surprise before deepening the kiss. Washing feelings of happiness threaten to warm Kisuke through and through, but he doesn't dare get ahead of himself. Not just yet. _

Kisuke opens his eyes to stare at a white ceiling, one he hasn't seen for nearly a century. He recognizes it immediately – the fourth division – and judging by the aching in his body, there's no surprise as to why he's there. He doesn't recall getting injured, but then, there's a lot of things Kisuke can't seem to remember at the moment.

How did he get here?

"I brought you. On my back, of course, so I'd like to get a little gratitude when you're done losing your mind," a voice cuts in, effectively answering what Kisuke had thought to be an internal question.

His head tips to the side, and he's greeted with a familiar face. It – he – lacks in its usual playful grin but is familiar nonetheless.

"Shinji?" Kisuke murmurs quizzically, and his friend looks scarcely better than Kisuke himself must at the moment. Bandages cover his body in various locations, though they look more healed than recently earned.

"So you _do_ remember who I am," Shinji says with a raised eyebrow and slouches back in his chair. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

Kisuke tries to move, to sit up against the headboard. But every muscle screams a protest at him, and he collapses back against the mattress. His brow furrows, mind still fuzzy.

"Why wouldn't I remember?"

"You couldn't seem to earlier," Shinji answers easily enough and lifts one hand to showcase the thick bandages that encircle his wrist. "Took me and two others to take you down."

Speechless, Kisuke can only stare. "I--"

Knocking interrupts what is sure to be a confused stutter. Kisuke's eyes flicker to the door where a boy hesitates in the doorway, one who he doesn't recognize.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the young man says with a deep, formal bow that makes something inside Kisuke curdle with unease. A tattoo arches from one eyebrow. "But I was hoping to thank you, Urahara-dono."

This is said to the floor, his face still parallel to it. And something inside Kisuke churns. He knows why the young Shinigami has come. But he honestly doesn't want to hear it. Thank kami that Shinji is there. He handles it with a finesse that Kisuke can't stomach. Not when just the thought of accepting someone's gratitude makes him want to vomit violently.

He can't bear to look at the boy. And so Kisuke doesn't, the hands in his lap clenching into fists as Shinji and the brat trade polite conversation.

"Somethin' any of us would've done," Shinji says, bullshit pouring from his lips as easily as truth. "Your gratitude's appreciated though."

The unidentified boy says something else, but Kisuke isn't listening. His ears are buzzing, roaring. And something a lot like a scream burbles up inside of him. Only he closes his mouth on it. Lets his fingers curl into tighter fists. Bites his tongue on the irrational response until he feels the bitter taste of blood.

"_I don't see why you're making a big deal out of this, Sou-kun," Kisuke mutters. _

_Agitation is in every step as he jerkily scrubs a cloth over one dirty dish and then another. Clean-up has always been his duty since Sousuke does the majority – okay, __**all**__ – of the cooking. _

"_I don't see this as something to be ashamed of," the blond adds, gesturing with a soapy spatula and making the suds flick through the air. They miss his lover's toes by a few inches. _

_Sousuke shifts back a step to the safety of the doorframe and leans upon it. Kisuke can't help but think that the downturn to his lips is rather sexy. Even as he whirls back around towards the dishes, scrubbing harder than needed. _

_The shifting of cloth indicates Sousuke folding his arms over his chest. "I never mentioned being ashamed of anything," he says carefully, slowly. As though speaking to a particularly obstinate child, and Kisuke __**hates**__ it when he gets that tone in his voice because isn't he supposed to be the elder here? The captain?_

_But sometimes... sometimes, Sousuke gets that look in his eyes that speaks of years beyond Kisuke. Years that he never asks about because he wants Sousuke to tell him when he wants to do so and not because Kisuke is curious. It's times like those that the blond wonders just what it is Sousuke's hiding, and surely, it can't be that bad. It's not like it'll make Kisuke immediately stop caring for him; he's in too deep for that. Too deep to do anything but spend the rest of his days with this man and still not have that be enough._

"_Don't even think about citing regulation at me," Kisuke warns and glances over his shoulder. "That rule's centuries old, and no one follows it. Otherwise, Isshin and Byakuya-bo both would've never been born, and you don't see anyone making an issue of that. You're not even my fukutaichou or in my division at all. No one cares about it but you." _

_One dark eyebrow arches. "Yamamoto-soutaichou is able to bend the rules where you and I cannot. And the Kuchiki have always done as they wished," Sousuke says, as if that should be explanation enough. "But no, I wasn't going to bring that up. I simply believe in keeping private things private. I do not…" He pauses and shakes his head. "I'm not Kyouraku Shunsui. I'm not comfortable with public declarations."_

_Kisuke shoves a pot through the rinse-water and sets it out to dry with a loud clunk. "I'm not asking to make out in public here, Sousuke. Or that you announce it from the water tower. I only want to be able to share a meal, somewhere other than here, and not have to worry if I'm doing anything improper."_

_Without having to worry about keeping random strangers and not-so-strangers from making eyes at them is what he really means. One of them in particular. _

_And it frustrates him that he can't say what he wants to say without sounding juvenile. That he's tired of the looks that Sousuke's kindness and handsome features garner. Or that he hates lying and saying there's no one special at home when there __**is**__. And above all things, Kisuke hates denying what Sousuke is to him. Hates having to smile and politely decline at all the offers thrown his way. Hates having to hide and think up excuses. Hates having to pretend that there is anyone but the man before him._

"Kisuke?"

Shinji's voice breaks through the fog of his memories. He emerges as though rising from the deep, from icy and black water, gasping for breath. Crescents are visible in his palm, and Kisuke forces his fingers to unfurl.

"I want to see him," he says then, tone flat and without inflection.

He barely notices that the Shinigami left at some point. Or that Shinji has risen to close the door, barring any further chances of gratitude. Kisuke doesn't want them and never will.

Shinji looks at him from his bedside perch. "You know better than that," he returns, quieter this time, voice full of understanding.

He's the only one who knows. Surely, others have guessed, but Shinji is the only one who _knows_. The only one who ever saw.

And while he knows about the pair of them, he doesn't know all of it. Doesn't know that they couldn't go days without the feel of other, sometimes not even hours. That they made love slowly during the summers and as fast as they could stand during the winter. That sometimes, it was like the world was on fire and would consume them both. And others, it was like they had all the time in existence. That there would never be anything else but the feel of their bodies sliding together, the warmth of Sousuke's weight pressing him down, and the buzz of their reiatsu as it twined together.

He doesn't know that Sousuke tasted of mint and that the spot behind his ear was particularly sensitive. That his hair was soft and silky as it slipped through Kisuke's fingers. That he knew all the important dates in Kisuke's life and why they were that way. That no matter how many women – or men – approached, Sousuke only ever had eyes for him. That in the end, Sousuke didn't fight back.

Shinji knows. But he doesn't know a damn thing at all.

"The Shinigami wouldn't have allowed anything of Aizen's to exist," Shinji says, and Kisuke belatedly realizes that he's been talking this entire time.

Shoulders slump that he hasn't even realized are held in the first place. A bit of energy slips out of him like the helium in a balloon as he sits slack against the headboard. The tightening in his chest increases like a vise has gripped his heart. Again, the taste of bile rises into the back of his throat, teasing his tongue. His stomach roils and tosses; his nose twitches with the scent of spilled blood.

All imagined of course. But he can feel it on his hands. Hot and bitter and so damn hard to accept.

Shinji sighs, sounding torn between a rock and a very hard place. One filled with jagged spears and serrated edges and molten lava beneath his feet.

"And don't let anyone see you with that look either," he comments. "They won't understand. They think you're a hero."

"I don't feel like one," Kisuke mutters, dragging his dry tongue over dry lips and trying to stop the rampant heaving in his belly. "I didn't do it to save everyone."

The chair creaks as Shinji shifts, reiatsu a subtle and comforting pulse in the room. Like waves lapping at a shore.

"Why did you do it?"

"I don't know. Maybe for myself," Kisuke answers, but it's not really an answer at all and he knows it. He can't explain it in ways that anyone else would understand.

"Yourself?"

Kisuke shrugs, gaze wandering to the window. Bright light streams in cheerily, golden rays of dawn. They do little to pierce the darkness that fogs Kisuke's thoughts.

He was just selfish, he supposes. Wanting all of Sousuke to belong to him in the end since apparently nothing ever had. Since it had been so easy for Sousuke to abandon him. Since Kisuke had been just a pawn like everyone else. Since his existence hadn't made a difference at all.

"_You're late." _

_Kisuke just smiles as Sousuke lifts his head from where he fell asleep on the couch, obviously waiting for the blond to arrive. He's wearing little more than a sleeping robe, a dark shade of blue that complements his complexion perfectly. It gapes a little to reveal the firm, muscled tan of his chest. _

"_Sorry," Kisuke apologizes sincerely. "There was an issue with one of the labs." _

"_Something exploded?" Sousuke questions with a quirked brow, rising to his feet and hiding his yawn behind a palm. _

"_Something like that."_

_Kisuke hums agreeably, letting his captain's haori slide off his shoulders and to the floor. He feels incredibly tired, reiatsu sluggishly stirring in response to Sousuke's presence but doing little else. _

_Strong fingers grip his shoulders then. Thumbs dig into the muscles of his upper back, and Kisuke groans, melting into the touch. His head rolls, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. He can feel Sousuke's presence behind him, even as the vice-captain's hands work their magic. _

"_You're tense," Sousuke murmurs, voice a welcome purr in Kisuke's ears, his warmth so near. _

"_Not just in my shoulders either," Kisuke returns with a soft smile. _

_He pointedly slides a half-step backwards and further into Sousuke's arms, heat flushes through him slowly. But more than anything, he just wants to sink into that embrace. To let those arms tighten around him and hold on. But Sousuke chuckles then, and something stirs in his groin. _

_The brunet's hands glide further down and land on Kisuke's side, just at the curve of his rib. "Here?" _

"_Mmm. Not quite." _

_His fingers a bare presence, Sousuke's touch shifts lower. He focuses on the blond's hips, even through the folds of his shihakushou. _

"_Here?" _

_Kisuke's lips quirk. His lover is such a damn tease. _

"_Almost." _

_Clever fingers dance around to the front of his hakama. One hand tugs at the ties to his obi as the other palm focuses hot against Kisuke's clothed arousal. _

"_Here?" Sousuke questions, tongue touching an ear. _

_Kisuke shivers and turns his head to meet Sousuke's lips with his own. And they kiss with eyes wide open and staring into another pair. _

There is cool slide of metal from leather, a sword whispering softly as it leaves its scabbard. Kisuke turns his head back towards Shinji. Only to gawk at the item gleaming in the man's hands, a very familiar hilt and pommel. He aches. By Kami and all the worlds above and below, he aches just looking at the beautiful blade.

Kisuke swallows thickly over a peach-sized lump in his throat. "Why... Why didn't she disappear with him?" he demands, half-afraid to touch the silvery-blue metal as though it would turn out to be mere illusion.

Just like her former wielder.

"You know why it didn't." Shinji's tone says everything but nothing.

Something clenches inside his chest, threatening to break free, keeping him dangling on the edge. Kisuke forces his hand to move, to cradle the zanpakutou gently. And the persisting reiatsu in her is bittersweet to his senses. His own reiatsu leaps out like an eager colt. Grasping onto the lingering tendrils. Pulling them into his own self like hoarding a handful of gold. And Kisuke is instantly surrounded in Sousuke's presence. Or what remains of it.

He closes his eyes, more memories than he can separate swamping his senses – _laughter and burnt food and warm mornings and teasing touches and brown eyes and a feeling so much like __**home. **_He and Sousuke had been together for nearly a decade before his lover betrayed him. And something like that can't be so easily forgotten or abandoned. Not for Kisuke.

"_It wasn't an illusion_," Sousuke had said.

And Kisuke can't believe him. He_ can't_. He doesn't have the strength to do that.

His fingers slide along Kyouka Suigetsu's tepid length, holding none of the warmth of her former master. But stirring at his touch, heating up.

And Kisuke has a rather treasonous desire, a brief and dangerous want. He has a thought of wanting to go back in time, knows that he could devise a way if he really and truly tried. Of wanting to press the reset button and start all over again. Pretend that yesterday and the past one-hundred years never happened. He wants to see if it's possible for him to hold onto the past rather than let it slip through his fingers. Make a new future. Never watch the man he loves become a man Kisuke doesn't know. To make sure the monster never happens. To never let go. To clutch on for dear life.

And despite the fact that they are his friends, that they've lived and fought and laughed together for over a century… Despite all that, Kisuke knows that if he had the choice to do it over, he would leave the Vizard to die. Shinji, Lisa and Love and Rose, Kensei and Mashiro, Hachi. Even Hiyori. He would simply turn his back and pretend he never saw. That there was nothing to see. He'd simply return to his warm bed, curl around Sousuke, and sleep like the dead.

They've won. The war is over. His exile has even been lifted apparently. But he'd give it all up in an instant. If Sousuke had even given him so much as a hint all those years ago, Kisuke knows exactly what side he would've picked. And it's not the one he's on now.

It's a testament to what this man does to him. To how far he can reach into Kisuke's soul even from the grave.

And Kyouka Suigetsu burns in his hands.

"They're going to want to see it, you know," Shinji says quietly, his voice slipping into Kisuke's thoughts.

He forces his eyes open, letting the zanpakutou rest in his lap. His fingers run over the green stitching on the pommel, and he can hear both she and Benihime purr in his mind. Can feel both princesses as they twine together.

"See what?" Kisuke asks dully, not really interested.

Shinji shifts, his chin resting on his knuckles as he watches Kisuke intently. "Whatever you invented that allowed you to see the real Aizen. To see past the illusion."

The words wash into Kisuke's ear. He freezes. Head lifting slowly, creaking like gears that haven't been used in a while.

"I..." He pauses, licking once again dry lips. "There wasn't anything."

It is Shinji's turn to stare at him in surprise. "That's... That's not the sort of answer the soutaichou and Chamber 46 are gonna want to hear, Kisuke."

"It's the truth," Kisuke insists. He feels something tug and churn in his belly. "I tried. I honestly did. For the length of my exile. But without Kyouka Suigetsu to study, I couldn't create anything to combat his illusions."

Shinji's head lifts from his knuckles. "Then how did you...?"

"Maybe he wanted me to," Kisuke says with a shrug, gaze shifting to the safety of the window. "Or maybe I wanted it badly enough."

Or maybe their reiatsu was too compatible. Too used to coiling together.

"I'm more inclined to believe the former," Shinji responds with a thoughtful hum. "But what're you gonna do now, Kisuke?"

His shoulders lift again, dropping without enthusiasm. "I'm not staying here," Kisuke says and finds it strange that being here in Soul Society should feel so wrong to him.

The feel of spiritual particles surrounding him should be familiar, as well as the steady hum of reiatsu. Instead, it feels stifling. Like he can't breathe. And he wants nothing more than to return to his shouten in Karakura. To the solitude and the humans who know nothing and therefore ask no questions. Where he can be with his thoughts and memories and no one will notice or care even if they do.

"Then I won't either."

His eyes skip to Shinji in surprise. But the other man's face is painted with resolve.

"Shinji, that's not--"

Shinji cut into his denial with an easy grin, leaning back against his chair. "I can't leave ya by yourself when ya look this pathetic. What kind of friend would I be? Besides, it's not like you're planning to stay outta Soul Society forever, right?"

Kisuke isn't so sure. But for Shinji's sake he inclines his head.

"I'll return eventually."

And it might be a lie; it might be the truth. He doesn't really know. Doesn't care.

It'd taken him a century to figure out just how he was going to face Sousuke, and in the end, he still acted on impulse. To return to the place where they'd been together? That will take much, much longer.

Maybe forever.

_Sousuke's lips twitch towards a smile, fingers dragging down a thigh. "I.." _

"_Yes," Kisuke presses, and his tone is teasing but thoughts perfectly serious. _

"_I... find you interesting," Sousuke finishes, the pads of his fingers tickling behind Kisuke's knee and making his leg twitch. _

_It takes all of his effort not to pout at the response he hadn't expected. Even if he still rather enjoys hearing it. _

"_That was so mean." _

_Brown eyes, unshielded by glasses, twinkle with amusement. "It's nothing but the truth, my dear. I find you interesting." Sousuke's mouth falls, and his lips press to Kisuke's chest. "I find you enlightening," he adds against the blond's skin, dragging his mouth toward a collarbone with a nibble. _

_This time, Kisuke does pout. "Maw, Sousuke. You sound like you only want me for my mind."_

_A tongue touches his skin, dancing upwards to the sensitive cove at the side of his throat. A kiss follows. _

"_I find you--" _

"_--ravishing?" Kisuke suggests. A purr builds in his chest as the warmth of another body covers him, and they rub together quite nicely. _

_Sousuke chuckles against his throat. "That, too." _

_His hand smooths back over Kisuke's knee and thigh, heading to more interesting territory and prompting his lover to tilt his hips hopefully. Lifting a hand, the blond drags his fingers down Sousuke's back, tracing the line of his spine. He feels a few ridged scars – another something he's never asked about. Sousuke rumbles at that, lips seeking out Kisuke's for a stirring kiss. But Kisuke won't be deterred with an erotic distraction. At least, not completely. _

"_But do you love me?" he asks against the brunet's mouth, his tongue dragging over his own lips._

_There is a pause as Sousuke pulls back._

"_Do you really need me to say it?"_

_There's an edge of something in his voice. Hurt perhaps. As though Kisuke has just screamed to the world that he doesn't trust him when by this point it's so damn obvious that Kisuke does. With his life even. His soul._

_Kisuke tilts his head back, grey eyes meeting his lover's directly. "Sometimes, it's nice to hear," he admits softly and with a tilt of his head._

_Fingers drag down the length of his arousal. And Sousuke presses a kiss to his jaw, the motion a lot like a nuzzle. He lingers there, forehead brushing Kisuke's cheek. And his words when they come are a whisper._

"_And sometimes, it's nice to know without words." _

* * *

a/n: Ack. Just like the prequel, this one digs fingers into my heart and refuses to let go. I wrote it in a big rush, much like I did the associated fic. Man, I love this pairing. Ahem. I doubt there will be a third in the series, but don't quote me on it. Never know when inspiration strikes. I hope you enjoyed!

Also, to anyone interested, I've recently posted a oneshot, threesome fic (Renji/Byakuya/Shuuhei). You won't find it on this site, but the links are in my profile. I'd love for you to check it out! It was supposed to be a drabble, but it got too long and I ended up posting it separately. Thanks for reading!


	161. Hot for Teacher

**Title: Hot for Teacher**

**Characters: Ichigo/Urahara**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: kink, daydreams, language**

**Words: 1501**

**Description: The geta-boushi is his master, his sensei, and Ichigo tries to convince himself that's all there is to it. **

**Dedication: To **_**Hirumo Musouka**_**, who requested a tastefully done Urahara/Ichigo. I hope that I managed the tasteful part. **

* * *

Ichigo can't remember when it started.

Maybe from the beginning. When he first met Urahara Kisuke and saw the curl of his smirk or the gleam of his eyes from under that damn ugly hat.

Maybe from the point when Urahara Kisuke shoved him down a seventy-foot hole and forced him to fight for his existence. When he pushed Ichigo to the limits and taught him the importance of resolve. There's an image there, pushing restlessly at the back of Ichigo's mind every time he gets a private moment. Something about the power behind Urahara-san's character that makes him tighten, intrigued. Aching.

Maybe after they saved Rukia and Urahara Kisuke had given him that strange look and apology aboard the weird flying carpet thing. Ichigo can distinctly remember his stomach doing a backflip then. Can remember something squeezing inside of him, his body going hot and cold. His tongue dry as thoughts, images, sounds come to full life in his mind.

His dreams that night had been _particularly _graphic.

Or maybe it was after the war, a couple of years later. When the world was no longer in peril and Ichigo could act like the human he was supposed to be and not just an afterthought. When he actually had time to sit and consider and _look_ at people they way they were meant to be seen.

Maybe it was then he noticed just how very attractive Urahara Kisuke could be. And that somehow, a long time ago, he'd developed a rather furious... crush. _Lust_ for the former Shinigami captain.

Ichigo's not sure when he started going for guys, and really, that's low on the list of sheer what-the-fuckery that has invaded his brain. Hollows and Aizen and Vizard and Shinigami aside, he couldn't give a damn about his sexuality. But having a hard on for a man who is likely decades – if not centuries – older than him is just a bit worrisome. Urahara-san is supposed to be his teacher, his mentor. The guy who sometimes answers Ichigo's questions if he's not caught up in being mysterious.

He's not supposed to be high on the list of future prospects for dating. At least, not for Ichigo. But the more Ichigo tries to tell himself of impossibilities and ridiculousness and so on, the more his body reminds him – frequently and wetly, especially at night – that he's just lying to himself and he needs to get with the program.

Ichigo sighs to himself and lets his eyes wander back to the window, completely ignoring the projection and the teacher droning on and on at the front of the room. Sometimes, his college classes seem completely useless. As though he's just forcing himself to cultivate normality because it's what he's supposed to do. Today happens to be one of those days. His finger taps a nonsense rhythm on the edge of his desk; his laptop screen isn't even turned on.

His senses are keyed. There's a Hollow somewhere. But he barely registers it before it is taken care of in a very permanent way. After the whole Winter War and Aizen incident, more than one Shinigami has been assigned to patrol Karakura and its unusual collection of high-powered souls. So Ichigo can't be sure who did it. Probably another newbie he's never met.

He feels restless, thoughts carrying him everywhere and nowhere. To disarrayed blond hair and a stubbled chin. The clack-clack of familiar geta and an ugly, striped hat. The curve of teasing lips. The low, sultry tones as he's both reprimanded and teased.

"_Kurosaki-kun_," _Urahara-sensei says, one finger hooked in his tie as he gives it a rough tug and loosens it from his neck. "This is unacceptable." _

_Ichigo can't even pretend to be chastened. But he looks askance at the paper with the bright red markings at it. _

"_What can I say?" he says with a shrug. "I was __**distracted**__." He gives his teacher a pointed look. _

_Urahara-sensei doesn't budge, just shakes said paper for emphasis. "What do you think we should do about this, Kurosaki-kun?" he asks and slides around his desk until he comes to a stop directly before his student. "These kinds of grades are simply unsatisfactory." _

_Brown eyes lazily look his teacher up and down, taking in the fine definition of muscles beneath a well-fitting suit. And Ichigo's tongue drags over his bottom lip. _

"_Private instruction from Urahara-sensei?" he suggests hopefully. _

_The smirk that curves his teacher's lips calls heat to Ichigo's skin. One hip leans against the desk, the red-marked paper returning to the wood surface. _

"_Do you think you'll benefit from it, Kurosaki-kun?" His voice is soft but sultry._

_Ichigo lifts a hand, fingers sliding over the ugly black and green striped tie that Urahara-sensei always wears. It feels silky soft to the touch, and he lifts it from his teacher's chest. _

"_I've always been better at hands-on learning," Ichigo returns. _

_He steps forward and places a knee directly between his teacher's legs, pinning Urahara-sensei between his body and the desk. His palms flatten on the surface on either side of Urahara-sensei as Ichigo leans forward, not surprised at all that his teacher doesn't seem to be intimidated. He just smirks in that disarming way of his, meeting Ichigo's gaze. _

"_I don't know," Urahara-sensei drawls, tongue sweeping over his lips. "This might require a more aggressive approach. Are you willing to go the distance, Kurosaki-kun? Are you willing to try the tactile approach?" _

_His hip pressing against Urahara-sensei's, Ichigo is pleased to find a half-hard arousal beneath layers of clothing. His hips twitch, begging for sweet friction._

"_I've always been one to take risks," he answers with a near purr, his hips rolling against Urahara-sensei's sensuously. _

_Something like a groan rumbles in the teacher's chest. "One with a head for danger, I see," Urahara-sensei murmurs, grey eyes gone dark and inviting. _

"_Exactly." Ichigo's fingers curl against the desk. "So what do you think? Can you help me, __**sensei**__?" _

_His cock throbs within the confines of his pants. The heat of the older man is palpable. And his scent invades Ichigo's nostrils with each inhale. _

"_I do believe that I can accommodate your needs," Urahara-sensei returns with a low voice, near a breath against Ichigo's skin. One hand goes between their bodies until his palm flattens over Ichigo's covered arousal, and he squeezes. "Private instruction is my forte, after all."_

_Ichigo smirks and leans in--_

**Thunk!**

"Kurosaki-kun!"

Ichigo startles. He nearly falls out of his chair as a marker from the whiteboard beans him right between the eyes.

"What?" he barks, nearly leaping to his feet with a conditioned response. Thankfully, he doesn't since his pants are bulging in an obvious way.

And then, he remembers where he is with startling speed as giggles and outright laughter ripple through the classroom. His teacher is looking at him, unimpressed and annoyed. One hand is planted on her hip, and a heel taps on the floor.

"Do you feel that this class is so unnecessary that you do not need to pay attention? If so, I suggest not attending rather than insulting me here in the classroom," she hisses at him. Her glasses gleam in a way that distinctly reminds him of Ise-san when her drunk captain has gone missing again.

Ichigo, to his credit, manages not to flush like a chastised schoolboy. Even if he does feel like one. He ducks his head in an apology.

"I'm sorry, sensei. It won't happen again." He puts genuine regret in his tone, which seems to soothe her ruffled feathers.

She straightens, one hand adjusting her glasses as though surprised by his answer. "Just... don't let it happen again," his professor says with a sniff and returns to her lesson, anger forgotten.

And to think, Tatsuki has always accused him of having so little charm. If she only knew.

Sighing to himself, Ichigo puts on a face of full attention and shifts in his seat. He slowly draws his coat over his lap to hide his diminishing arousal. He can feel the looks that wander his direction but ignores them. Mind already in full contemplation of something other than the lesson.

The daydream has done little to convince Ichigo that Urahara-san is off limits. In fact, he only desires his master even more now. The images are there, crowding in the back of his brain. And he can't ignore them. Not anymore.

A bit of a smirk pulls at Ichigo's lips as he balances his chin on his palm, staring in the vague direction of the room's front. He thinks about the way he had cornered Urahara in his little fantasy. Thinks about trapping the mad scientist against his desk, watching those perpetually mysterious eyes darken with lust.

Ichigo's belly tightens, threatening to reawaken the stirrings in his groin.

That's it. Screw propriety.

Ichigo is a fucking adult now, and he can make his own damn decisions. Including the one biting at the forefront of his mind and libido. And Ichigo makes a plan, then and there, to seduce Urahara Kisuke.

His master will never see it coming.

* * *

a/n: I think this calls for a sequel? Don't you? Why yes, dear readers, I think it does. *grins* I hope you enjoyed!


	162. Worst Fear

**Title: Worst Fear**

**Characters: Renji/Ishida**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: hints of boykisses, spoilers? **

**Words: 1111**

**Description: They were two different people with two different lives. Only borrowing each other's warmth to heal old wounds.**

**Title borrowed from the **_**Rascal Flatts**_** song, which inspired this piece. **

**Dedication: To **_**RadicalEd57**_**, who wanted this pairing though I doubt the angst was wanted. Sorry!**

* * *

Renji woke slowly, senses muddled and body drowsy. He should've been alarmed by this obvious example of his comfort. But instead, he luxuriated in the lassitude. He knew what it was that had woken him: Uryuu had moved from the bed as he always had. An action that never failed to register on Renji's senses.

Usually, Renji spoke. Said something to acknowledge the morning – golden this time around, peering through the curtains and blinds in a spray of cheerful sunlight. Usually, he offered a lazy smile. Made a grab for Uryuu. Tried to entice the Quincy back into bed. Maybe for a morning romp. Usually, Renji never wanted to let go.

This morning felt different, _was_ different. Only because of the knowledge that Renji carried in the back of his mind.

He listened to Uryuu as the Quincy pulled on clothes, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand and slipping them on his nose. He always rose first. Preparing breakfast and ironing his clothes for the day since Uryuu _refused_ to wear his suit with the smallest wrinkle on it.

Renji watched with lidded eyes as Uryuu's shadow echoed on the wall, tracing his movements throughout the room. Uryuu was much like a cat. He walked so softly. Renji had often joked that the other man would have made a perfect member of the Onmitsukidoh. Uryuu had never appreciated the compliment. He still carried no fondness for the Shinigami, Renji aside.

Uryuu turned to the bed, floor creaking as it always did on that side. And Renji felt a light touch down his bare back. Just a ghost of fingers, warm against his equally warm skin. And Uryuu murmured something. Words suspiciously like those they had never uttered to one another. Uryuu didn't believe in them. And Renji considered them too precious to be arbitrarily given like the rest of the world believed necessary.

Renji stilled, heart beginning a faster pace within his chest. The touch was gone as quietly as it had come. Renji heard his lover leave, but the impression of words remained. Soft and quietly spoken. Renji wondered how often Uryuu had done that. When he believed Renji to be utterly asleep.

It tore into Renji's insides and knifed him with guilt. Uryuu was making this hard, and he hadn't even known Renji's plans.

Part of him didn't want to. Another part of Renji knew that he had to. This thing between them, between Quincy and Shinigami, it couldn't work. They were two different people with two different lives who existed in two different worlds. Renji could only come here when he managed to trade rotations with someone else to build up as many in Karakura as possible. And Uryuu could never come to Soul Society without Urahara-san's help. Not that Uryuu would willingly enter the home of the Shinigami.

Why Renji had never fit the bill of a Shinigami not even Renji himself was sure. Uryuu had never explained himself, and Renji never thought fit to ask. It was one of those topics they carefully stepped around. Avoiding like the Menos Grande in the corner of the room just waiting to strike.

Uryuu would be fine; Renji was sure of it. He had friends here in Karakura. He and his father had reconciled just recently. If tolerating one another's presence with lukewarm temperatures rather than icy silence could be considered reconciliation. Uryuu still had a life to live as a human. It was time he stopped wasting it on someone already dead.

And Renji? He would heal with time. He had plenty of it left after all. Hundreds of years if some of his fellows were any indication. He didn't think himself lucky enough to survive thousands like the captain-commander or Ukitake-taichou.

Forcing a deep, slow breath, Renji threw off the covers and rolled out of bed. His feet were cold against the bare floor. His red hair fell unbound over his shoulders. But he twisted it into a quick braid, blindly reaching for a tie. He pulled on a pair of pants, not worrying about much else. There would be time to dress completely later. When he'd packed all of his things.

It was hard to leave, but Renji knew that he had to do this. They were only borrowing each other's warmth to heal old wounds after all. And in the end, only putting band-aids over bleeding scars. This sort of thing couldn't last. Renji was doing them both a favor by ending it now rather than a more painful later.

Renji left the bedroom, fighting back a yawn and a chill. Thinking he should have grabbed a shirt or something. The silence of the house surrounded him, and Renji furrowed his brow. He should at least hear something. The low murmur of the radio as Uryuu listened to the morning news and weather at a soft volume. Pans clattering.

Instead, Renji heard nothing. He frowned.

Stepping into the bright kitchen, he found it deserted. Not even a pot of water was boiling on the stove. Hot tea was something Uryuu drank every morning before going to work no matter the weather or the time.

"Uryuu?"

Renji's voice echoed with a hint of unease.

He checked the other rooms. The main room held nothing. As did the small laundry room. The bathroom was abandoned, the sink noticeably bare of toiletries. Uryuu's suitcase wasn't by the front door. Nor his coat and shoes which implied that the Quincy had already left.

Renji moved back into the bedroom, throwing open the door to the closet. Clothes hung haphazardly. But if Renji looked closer, he noticed that several suits and favorite items were gone. He turned, eyes falling on the nightstand. It too was bare. The few pictures they had decorating the surface were gone.

It didn't take a genius to connect the dots from there. Renji, stunned, fell back against the door to the closet with a loud clatter.

Uryuu had left him first. And Renji hadn't had a clue. He'd been so wrapped up in his own plans that he had failed to notice Uryuu making the same. How crazy was that?

A bitter laugh escaped the Shinigami's lips, and he dragged a palm down his face. Both trying to leave the other. Only Uryuu got there first. What did that say about their relationship?

Renji had thought it would be best for them to go their separate ways. He had thought it would be best if Renji left. So he could be the one at fault. So he could be named the bastard.

He never would have guessed Uryuu would leave him first.

* * *

AN:Another instance where I aimed for fluff and got angst. Something tells me I need to take another look at whatever I'm using to aim. lol. More drabbles to come!

I hope you enjoyed!


	163. Sorry

**Title: Sorry**

**Characters: Gin/Matsumoto**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: spoilers, hetness, some creepiness, angst, fluff**

**Words: 935**

**Description: She wonders if being sorry is good enough.**

**Dedication: For **_**Wednesday1990**_**, who wanted this pairing and probably would have liked something positive but got… **_**this**_ **instead. **

**

* * *

**She wishes that she could love him. Despite what others think, there is a lot about Gin that is lovable. There's more beneath the surface, more to him than the prodigy with a creepy smile. After all, Rangiku knew Gin before he ever entered the Academy and before he blazed his way into the fifth division. She likes to think that she knows who Gin really is.

He's the type of man who wakes up early because he likes to watch the sun rise. To feel the cool breath of the morning on his face. To enjoy the sensation of a world in the midst of waking, holding its breath on the precipice before slowly, languorously shifting into a new day.

Gin's the sort of man who presses close to her in the middle of the night, desperate for body heat because he just can't get enough. Who would rather pillow his head on her shoulder or stomach or thigh. Would rather trail fingers down her sides or nuzzle against her belly. He likes to drag his fingers through her hair, gently combing out the tangles. He presses his face into her neck, inhaling the fruity scent of her soap.

Gin's the sort of man who hoards his affection like a Kuchiki with wealth. But once he believes he's found someone worthy of it pours all his emotion into his being. He's a man who _loves_ with every inch of his being. Who soaks himself in those warm, tender emotions, never showing them to anyone but those he values.

Rangiku knows all these things about him. She knows how tightly he clings to her hands at times. And how well he can cook because he's only ever done that for her. She knows that he finds lame puns amusing and has a bad habit of making them in the middle of ordinary conversation. And she knows how deeply his skin flushes when she kisses him and how hungry those kisses can be.

Rangiku's not blind. She knows that there's a darker side to him. She knows that a part of Gin hungers for power. That he hates being helpless. She knows that he can kill without blinking. That he can watch Kurotsuchi perform his dissections with the detached air of a madman. She knows that sometimes he comes back to her carrying the sharp and bitter scent of blood. It clings to him though she can't see it. And sometimes, his lips taste of death.

Nor can Rangiku deny that a tiny bit of her is thrilled by that dichotomy. By the hint of danger wrapped around Gin's lithe form. It should frighten her. But then, this is _Gin_. Someone she has known longer than anyone else.

He's hiding something, Rangiku knows that, too. That there's a secret side to Gin that he shows no one, not even her. Though sometimes, she catches him looking at her as though he's considering letting her in on the secret. As though the information is bobbing to the surface, desperate to be given, before he buries it again.

Maybe he's scared of her reaction, what she'll do if he tells. Maybe Gin's worried that she'll leave him. Rangiku doesn't know, but she does know that Gin loves her. It's not so much that he says it, but that he shows it. Perhaps not in public where others can comment and mock and spread rumors. But behind closed doors, his feelings are so obvious. In his arm, Rangiku feels like the most beautiful woman alive. A precious thing. A jewel or rich silks. Or an expensive, aged bottle of sake.

She feels like the top of the world.

More than anything, Rangiku wishes she would return those feelings. That she can love Gin as much as he loves her. That she can make him her only one. That she doesn't need anyone's touch but his. Anyone's taste but Gin's own.

She wishes these things heartily, but that doesn't give them any weight. Nor does it make them any more real. That doesn't stop her from slipping out of another man's bed, finding her missing clothing, and disappearing into the night. They don't stop her from checking her appearance in a small mirror. Looking for obvious marks and rearranging the cloth of her shitagi.

Rangiku creeps back to her quarters rather than returning to Gin's to spend the night with him. She washes in silence, unable to shake the sensation that she's also bathing in guilt. She wonders why she can't just take Gin's love and return it wholeheartedly. She wonders why she just doesn't let him go if it's a hopeless venture.

And months later, when she's standing on a dusty hilltop, feeling betrayal knife through her and make the air taste sour, Rangiku wonders why Gin's the one apologizing. Why his sorry falls so easily from his lips when it's Rangiku who should be begging for forgiveness.

She wraps her arms around her waist, hugging herself, wondering why it hurts so badly. Why she wants to scream and yell and hurt something –_ someone –_ the same way she herself hurts. She wonders why she can't look away as Gin rises into the sky, abandoning all of Soul Society, leaving her behind.

Rangiku watches him leave and thinks that it's all she deserves. She wonders if he would have stayed if she'd just _loved_ him properly. If she had felt the words she told him. If the silent apologies had been more meaningful. Represented with deeds and not just words.

And sometimes, Rangiku also wonders if being sorry is enough.

* * *

a/n: Ack. For some reason, I just can't write these two _happy_. I don't know why. lol

Well, more drabbles are on the way, more fulfilled requests and the like. I hope you enjoyed!


	164. Silver Lining

**Title: Silver Lining**

**Characters: Byakuya, Ulquiorra**

**Rating: K+**

**Warning: slight spoilers, AU, hints to possible pairings**

**Words: 1475**

**Description: Byakuya hopes that he hasn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.**

**Dedication: **_**The Sorrowful Vampress**_**, for which this was a fic exchange. She wrote Renji/Kira for me; I give her Byakuya/Ulquiorra. Or the beginnings of one anyway. **

**a/n: Yes, I know what the official spellings of the names have been revealed to be. This, however, was written before that came out and I'm not inclined to change what has become a habit anyway. I'm sorry if that bothers you but I'm not going to change it.  
**

* * *

Byakuya has never considered himself much of a people person. In fact, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he doesn't like people. Persons on a singular level, yes, but people? No. In fact, he tends to avoid all contact with those beneath his notice. Or to be more precise, he attempts to avoid such contact but they usually end up in his face anyway, like Zaraki Kenpachi.

That, however, is a story for another time.

Right now, Byakuya is more concerned with the burden that the captain-commander and Chamber 46 have laid upon him. Of course, he's not the only one who has to suffer under this assignment. Kyouraku-taichou has been saddled with the first Espada, a suitable pairing if one were to ask Byakuya. Though he's a bit hesitant to inquire into the relationship that Kyouraku, Ukitake, and Stark-san have seemed to adopt.

And Hitsugaya-taichou has been forced to take the lone female Espada under his frosty supervision. Granted, they seem to be getting along well, though Halibel-san and Matsumoto-fukutaichou are playing a woman's game of staking their respective territories.

Zaraki all too easily welcomed that menace Grimmjow in his fold. And it wasn't long before the former Espada bit, kicked, and clawed his way to the vacant fourth-seat that Ayasegawa still finds so revolting. He even seems to be eying the third-seat with a veracity that makes Madarame grin. Although he appears half-afraid of touching the lieutenant's post and the bubbly abomination that inhabits it.

Urahara-taichou – having recently returned and taken over the fifth – has been fawning over his pink-haired acquisition since the moment the assignments were handed out. Not to mention the bragging rights he carries in having Kurosaki Ichigo as his vice-captain, something the orange-haired brat finds rather irritating.

It appears only Byakuya is none too pleased with the decision of the higher ups. And as he looks at his charge – Ulquiorra Schiffer – he can't help but think that this must have been planned in some way. There is a distant, emptiness to the boy's cyan gaze. And an open disdain in his features that suggests a sneer would be found if he were to allow himself to show any sort of emotion.

It is Schiffer's introduction to the ranks of the Shinigami that Byakuya doubts the most stridently. He has always been the one considered most loyal to Aizen, and so Byakuya wonders what this Arrancar must think of his current circumstances.

"You will serve as my fukutaichou," Byakuya explains, another order he can't justify to himself just yet. "There is a recent opening for the position, and your skills dictate that you are qualified to handle the responsibilities required of one."

The fact that he has traded Renji for this former Espada rankles on him. He is proud that his former lieutenant has been given a captain's position – much like the one Muguruma returned to at the ninth and Urahara gleefully accepted upon his return, taking over Aizen's former division. But Byakuya doesn't believe that acquiring Ulquiorra in Renji's place is an appropriate exchange.

Why have they given him the most troublesome Hollow of the lot?

Ulquiorra says nothing. Just inclines his head in understanding of Byakuya's instructions, looking pale and fragile in the black of the Shinigami. If he is discomfited by the change of attire or the fact that he will now serve the Shinigami all Hollow loathe, Ulquiorra does not show it.

Unnerved by the boy's silence and empty glare, Byakuya turns back around. He barely hears the footsteps as Ulquiorra follows him.

"Normally, as fukutaichou, you would reside in your own quarters. But circumstances as they are, you will be required to remain in my custody until I or Yamamoto-soutaichou decide otherwise."

Again, Ulquiorra says nothing. Byakuya begins to feel like he is talking to himself. By Kami, he wishes he could just thrust this burden onto someone else. But no, his Kuchiki pride will not allow him to concede such a defeat. Besides, who would he send Ulquiorra to anyway? Renji is not capable. Soifon's people skills are even worse than Byakuya's. And he is sure that Ulquiorra is in no way suitable for the fourth division. Causing damage seems more his forte, though perhaps not in the same manner as Grimmjow. Not to mention that Ukitake has already made his preference of vice-captain known. And even Byakuya can't find it within himself to fight Rukia's well-deserved promotion.

"Unohana-taichou has assured me that you are fit for duty. You will begin tomorrow," Byakuya continues, the roads mostly silent as he directs the both of them towards his manor.

Won't his servants be surprised by the stray he has brought home this time? If anything, this will certainly get tongues to wagging. Never mind that it is his responsibility as captain of the sixth division.

"I trust that you agree with her assessment?" Byakuya asks, wondering if a direct query will finally garner some kind of reaction from the stoic Arrancar.

Ulquiorra shifts as though to nod again before deciding on verbal confirmation. "Yes, sir."

Ah, he does speak. Byakuya had begun to wonder if the former Espada would only open his mouth for Aizen. And well, he probably shouldn't put it in those words aloud because then it has entirely different connotations altogether.

The rest of the short walk is made in silence, Byakuya content to let his unwanted charge stew in his own thoughts as Byakuya himself contemplates what he should do with the one-time Espada.

He suspects that if Ulquiorra's loyalties have truly shifted the Arrancar will actually be of some use. He carries a certain degree of intelligence, and he is quiet, something vastly different from Byakuya's former lieutenants. He doesn't think he'll have a discipline problem, but still... Ulquiorra is an Arrancar and Aizen's former favorite to boot. Byakuya supposes he has no choice but to handle this day by day.

They enter by the front gate. What few servants Byakuya tolerates greet him on his return, casting confused glances to the sullen creature trailing along behind their master.

"Schiffer-fukutaichou will be staying here for an undetermined time," Byakuya informs them, voice steady. There is no need to carry warning in his tone. His servants have served the Kuchiki faithfully for quite some time. They know what is expected of him. "Treat him as a guest."

They bow and nod in understanding. Murmuring a series of "yes, sir" and "as you will it" across the board. They begin to disperse, but Byakuya gestures one of the younger women towards him.

"Show him to a room," he says, already pondering where he should place the Arrancar.

Near to his quarters in case of a possible disturbance? Or far away for worry of a zanpakutou through his back? Ulquiorra hasn't shown any disdain for his circumstances… yet. Byakuya doesn't think him foolish enough to attempt murder on a Kuchiki in the middle of Seireitei. Still, there is a cautious side of him that is unwilling to trust Ulquiorra entirely.

"Byakuya-sama?"

He shakes himself out of his musings. "Use the guest room in the east wing," Byakuya says, refraining from issuing the sigh that threatens to spill from his lips.

From the startled look on his servant's face, Byakuya knows he has surprised the woman. The east wing is Byakuya's, and that particular guest room is usually reserved for honored guests. But Byakuya doesn't think he can rest comfortably knowing Ulquiorra is on the other side of the manor and farther from his senses. He'd prefer to keep an eye on the Arrancar himself.

The woman knows far better than to argue different, however, and gives Byakuya a shallow bow. "Follow me, honored guest," she says stiffly, and gestures for Ulquiorra to come along.

Ulquiorra doesn't seem bothered by the fact everything has been decided for him. He doesn't move immediately, watching Byakuya with a look the Kuchiki heir can't quite interpret, before he blinks slowly and moves to follow Byakuya's servant. Steps completely inaudible and reiatsu tightly contained. His hand hovers near his right side, and Byakuya frowns.

At some point, they will have to return Ulquiorra's zanpakutou to him. The blade practically hums at Byakuya's side where he has kept it on his person. But not now. Not just yet. Byakuya can't justify that level of trust.

Suppressing yet another sigh, Byakuya heads back to his personal quarters with the intention of indulging in a long bath before crawling into bed. The stress of the day has crowded on his shoulders like a heavy weight and he wants nothing more than to forget about it. To chase away his thoughts and lingering impressions of green, green eyes in the back of his mind.

He can only hope that Yamamoto-soutaichou knows what he's doing. That having an Arrancar as his vice-captain won't turn out to be as disastrous as simply saying it aloud sounds.

* * *

a/n: This is the prelude to a pairing, and not only that, the prelude to another one of my drabbles-in-a-series that will also, at some point, contain Ukitake/Stark, Kira/Nanao, Shunsui/Lisa, IchigoxAdult!Nel and several others that will eventually appear. Something to look forward to, yes?

I hope you enjoyed!


	165. Russian Roulette

a/n: I really, _really_ like this one. I hope you do, too!

**Title: Russian Roulette**

**Characters: Gin/Ukitake**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Spoilers, boykisses, darkness**

**Words: 1849**

**Description: If they knew the truth, they'd run him through. That might be preferable.**

**Inspired by the song of the same name by **_**Rihanna**_**.**

* * *

"_Ne, Juu-san, do ya love me?" _

Jyuushiro opens his eyes, stares straight ahead, looks at the piece of paper sitting so innocuously on his desk. It's simple. A piece of folded white, his name painstakingly printed on the front of it. Nothing out of the ordinary except perhaps that it carries the faintest odor of death and decay. Of desolation.

Or perhaps that's Jyuushiro's paranoia speaking for him.

_Hands glide down his back. A palm traces the line of his spine. Fingers skip over the ridges of his ribs, always so prominent no matter how much he eats. A low chuckle right in his ear as lips brush the curled shell, skin equally soft against his. _

"_Ya never eat enough, Juu-san." _

He's staring at the paper like it's a loaded weapon. Like if he touches it, something terrible will happen. And Jyuushiro swallows thickly. His palms are sweaty, and a bead of moisture trickles from his forehead and into his hair. He reaches with a shaky hand, wiping it away, staring at the paper until the kanji blurs.

Just like all the lines in his life. The edges of black and white. The thick and the fine. The places where things used to be so simple but aren't anymore. Where everything has turned to shades of grey. Shades of red, crimson so prominent. And gold, gleaming down everywhere, shooting from a blue, blue sky.

_He can feel the ice-blue eyes tracking his movements, watching him from behind slitted lids. And Jyuushiro looks up from his conversation with Shunsui to catch sight of Gin across the courtyard, surreptitiously gazing their direction. That smile curves his lips, and the sight of it sends a shiver down Jyuushiro's spine. A flush of heat through his body. His cheeks heat. His breath quickens. Something inside of him aches. _

For a minute there, Jyuushiro can almost see Gin sitting across from him. Smiling and watching, leaning forward, one bony arm on the outer edge of his desk. His other hand drags a careless finger over polished wood. His voice is a seductive purr, eyes promising everything and nothing. Sometimes those of a scared boy seeking parental affection. Sometimes cold like a soldier, the killer Seireitei grooms him to become. Sometimes warm like the island breeze, full of heat and want and _desire. _Sometimes sharp like the edge of Shinsou's blade, stretching and stretching.

Jyuushiro shivers, even though the heat outside seeps into his office. So warm that he's already shed his haori and sits in only the black shihakushou. Yet, a chill manages to creep down his spine.

_He tastes like fenugreek and anise, a sweet and intoxicating mix. His tongue is skilled in ways that a child such as he shouldn't know. And yet, Jyuushiro doesn't argue, doesn't hesitate, just moans as the thin and wiry body covers him. Fingers lock around his wrist, not tightly but making their presence known. _

_Skin slides against his, always cold no matter the temperature of the room. But his lips are hot, hungry. Jyuushiro's legs part, open, vulnerable. And Gin slides between them as though it is where he has always belonged. Jyuushiro lets him because why should he be afraid? Why should he hesitate? _

_What reason should he have to doubt?_

Jyuushiro takes in a steady breath. He wants to close his eyes so that he doesn't have to see the envelope any longer. But that only makes the images so much more vivid. It only amplifies the memories. And his hands are already curling into agonized fists.

He should be braver than this. Why does he feel like he's staring down the edge of a blade, waiting for it to finish its fall? Waiting for the sharp metal to bite into his skin? Crimson gliding down the polished silver until it drips – _plop, plop, plip –_ onto the ground?

"_I'll bet ya've never played this rough, ne? Not a good boy like you," Gin says and holds Shinsou in front of him, teasing the sharp edges with his fingers. _

_Jyuushiro watches. Unable to look away. His heart beats a mad rhythm in his chest, but his arousal lingers, unabated. _

_Azure eyes glitter as they look at him. "Do ya trust me, Juu-san?" _

This is foolish. Jyuushiro is one of the strongest members of the Gotei 13. He shouldn't be afraid of a piece of paper. No matter what the words may say. No matter who sent it.

He forces himself to lift his hand and pluck the paper from his desktop. He forces himself to grab the letter opener and slice open the envelope. To shake out the piece of parchment and unfold the careful creases. To look at the words imprinted, a stark black against a sharp white.

Jyuushiro scans the first line. It is a greeting, nothing more. An optimistic greeting with an achingly familiar nickname. But a greeting nonetheless.

He continues, his heart thumping so hard in his chest he fears he will break into a coughing fit at any moment. Jyuushiro can feel the tightening in his lungs, and he trembles from holding back the fit. He can't have Kiyone or Sentarou rushing in here right now. Not with the way he looks. It's hard enough just holding in his reiatsu.

Reiatsu.

There's a smidge of it left on the paper, as though remaining with purpose. The lingering tendrils wisp away from the page and reach for Jyuushiro with disturbing strength. He swears he can see them with his naked eye. Cerulean and scarlet teased, churning, seeking his own with a relentless tenacity.

And damn if his reiatsu doesn't surge forward to meet it. The brief lapse shakes the items on Jyuushiro's desk before he reels it in.

_His reiatsu pours over Jyuushiro's skin like a bubbly drink, fizzing and popping in all kinds of ways. Jyuushiro's neck rolls on his shoulders, drunk in sensation. A pair of hands glide over his chest, and fingers tweak his nipples. Lips and teeth and tongue attacking in all the right places, nipping and licking and sucking. His mouth falls over Jyuushiro and doesn't let go._

_Gin's reiatsu feels like the prickle of a sleeping limb, the sensation right after numbness when feeling gradually returns. Jyuushiro's own rises up to meet his. Wave after wave of crashing liquid, trickling down. The two intertwine in the space between them, an almost tangible presence. Until Jyuushiro feels as if he's locked a piece of Gin inside of him. _

_They writhe together. Hands and fingers and reiatsu twining until he can't tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Sweat and skin and sex and sin. Passion and pain and pleasure all coiling together. _

_And then, Gin laughs._

He forces his eyes open, wondering when he allowed them to shut. The paper unblurs, the kanji clear and black. He's been staring at it for longer than he remembers to count.

The paper rattles in his hold. Jyuushiro forces himself to read the rest. His lips move silently to himself, practically able to hear Gin's voice in each word.

_Dearest Juu-san, _

_How's the weather? Pleasant I should hope. It never really changes here. Just dry and dusty as always. There's not much of a view from my window either. Sand, dead tree, sand, another dead tree, sand, more sand. Oh, look! There goes Stark-bo passing by. It's nothing like the view from your window with the garden and the koi pond. _

_It's very cold here, too. It makes me remember the winters when we buried ourselves under piles of blankets because neither of us is ever warm. Especially that one a few years ago. Do you remember that Juu-san? Ya had to hide me in a hurry because Kyouraku came over without announcing himself like he usually does. Has he fixed that bad habit yet? He'll get an eyeful one of these days if he keeps it up!_

_How's Kyouraku by the way? And Izuru-kun? Good, I hope. Aizen-taichou's doing well. Kana-chan keeps muttering about justice though. Gets rather annoyin' if ya ask me. I should know. My room's right next to his. Don't ya feel sorry for me, Juu-san? Though I suppose you've heard worse with Yama-jii's snoring, right? _

_Ah, Aizen-taichou just called a meeting, so I have to cut this short. Stay well, Juu-san. Eat your veggies. Oh, and stay warm at night. Ya know ya catch cold more easily than anyone else. _

_Hugs and kisses, _

_Gin_

Jyuushiro swallows over a lump in his throat and sets the paper down on his desk. Still open, the incriminating words scream so much more at him than they actually say.

How cruel, that Gin. He acts as if nothing has changed, as though he's just on vacation somewhere. Like there is no difference between the '_them_' they are now and the '_them_' they were in the past. Before Gin's betrayal. Before Gin walked away. Before Gin _pretended_ and _used _him and left him useless like an empty box of tissue.

It's like the present never happened, shouldn't make a difference. Like Jyuushiro should still care and want and hope and desire because that's the way things should be. Like there's no difference to Gin. Here or there. On one side of the war or another. Standing with blades crossed between them.

"_If ya won't say it, ya can whisper it to me." _

_Jyuushiro looks up and watches as Gin watches him, tongue prodding at the silky cloth that covers his lips. His jaw aches. But it's a dull pain. Nothing he can't handle. Yet, Jyuushiro can't speak, not even if he wants to. _

_Thin fingers are an impression on the sides of Jyuushiro's hips. Gin is buried deep inside of him, the throb of his pulse a tangible presence. Gin moves in him slowly, a maddening pace that makes the pleasure within Jyuushiro crest and fall in steadying waves. That makes him twist and turn in his bindings. _

_Gin chuckles. "Or maybe ya want me ta say it first." He leans forward, face so close that Jyuushiro can feel the puff of his warm breath. "Ya know that I love ya, Juu-san." _

_His voice is a bare whisper above the sounds of their bodies sliding together. But it only makes Jyuushiro suck in a breath and writhe all that much harder._

Jyuushiro aches and licks his lips with a dry tongue.

The envelope and the letter, despite his better judgment, are carefully folded and placed in a small drawer to the side. One with a hidden catch that can't be found by normal means. One so secret that not even Shunsui knows it's there. The papers land atop a small but similar stack. Which by its existence alone deems him a traitor.

And Jyuushiro spends the rest of the day staring at his wall. At a picture framed in simple black, the elegant kanji depicting a simple poem. One of hope through loss and sorrow. It was a gift, and if anyone knew who from and what it really meant, they'd run him through.

Jyuushiro thinks that might be preferable.

* * *

AN: Juu-san is thirteen. It's a play on Ukitake's division and name.

This one hurts, much like the Urahara/Aizen series that starts with "Anthem of Our Dying Day". There may be a sequel in the future, if I can figure out where I want it to go.

I hope you enjoyed!


	166. All He Had to Give

**Title: All He Had to Give**

**Characters: Urahara/Ichigo**

**Rating: T **

**Warning: language, OOC, hilarity, crack, boykisses**

**Words: 3530**

**Description: Someone's been stalking Ichigo, and whoever they are keeps using insane ways to show it. **

**Dedication: For **_**doodle808**_**, who wanted this pairing and these circumstances**

**Title is from a song by the **_**Backstreet Boys**_** as are the brief lyrics, though this is NOT a songfic. **

* * *

Ichigo first began to suspect that he had a stalker when he woke up every morning to find a vase of flowers on his windowsill. As the Shinigami-Human liaison, he was accustomed to leaving his bedroom window open because it allowed the Shinigami to contact him without breaking the glass – as they usually did before he'd wisened up. Besides, he was _Kurosaki_ _Ichigo_. He wasn't exactly concerned with someone breaking in to kidnap, kill, or otherwise harm him.

The flowers were nice. Subtly fragrant. The colors vibrant but not too girly. And Ichigo didn't even have to worry about them going rotten or turning brown. The minute a single leaf started to droop, a fresh vase would appear the next morning.

They were, however, unnerving. It was nothing to know that someone had a crush on him. Like catching them admiring him from a distance. It was quite another thing to suspect it and know someone was _stalking _him. Worse, Ichigo didn't know who it was.

But flowers were harmless. So Ichigo let it slide.

And then, the chocolates came.

Once or twice a week, right around the time he came home from afternoon classes, there'd be a package waiting on his doorstep. Neatly wrapped. Perfectly innocuous. Same size. Same shape. Only the contents varied. The first time Ichigo opened it, he'd been cautious. And he refused to even _try_ the chocolates until after they'd gone through vigorous testing to ensure that they were safe and free from poisons. Though that would be a pretty cowardly way for someone to kill him.

So there were flowers, and then, there were chocolates. All given without note or explanation. Ichigo was pretty sure he had a stalker by that point.

And then, things became _stranger_.

* * *

Ichigo walked out of one of his classes – a mandatory course on computers that he really didn't need – when the trio of men assailed him. He stopped and stared as they broke into a three-part harmony and _sang _a badly covered rendition of a song from the nineties. Something by a boy band no one paid attention to anymore.

"_I don't know… what he does to make you cry, but I'll be there to make you smile." _

Ichigo stared. And stared. And stared some more. In fact, he stared until he thought his eyes were going to dry out and he would never blink again.

"_I don't have a fancy car. To get to you, I'd walk a thousand miles." _

Behind him, his fellow students were pouring out of the classroom. Some stopped to gape at the spectacle. Others hurried on their way as if they were personally mortified to bear witness to Ichigo's embarrassment.

Ichigo couldn't seem to make his feet move. It was obvious from the way the trio was looking and gesturing to him that this… _spectacle_ was meant for Ichigo.

"_But my love is all I have to give. Without you, I don't think I could live. I wish that I could give the world to you."_

"Umm, Ichigo?" Inoue asked tentatively as she appeared at his left side.

She, like most of Ichigo's friends, attended the same university as him. Except for Ishida, the arrogant snot. He was going to some fancy, super-smart university in Tokyo.

"_But love is all I have to give._"

All Ichigo could do was make a strangled sound of disbelief in his throat. Words failed him, and try as he might, he couldn't make himself move to run away either. By this point, the singing trio had attracted a rather sizable crowd.

Finally, a voice of reason emerged as Tatsuki sprang forward. Waving her hands pointedly.

"Stop!" she shouted, louder than the trio could sing. "Stop right now!"

They did. There were few that could see that look in Tatsuki's eyes and not immediately obey. The three men exchanged a glance amongst themselves before the one in the middle looked at Ichigo, blinking.

"You're not Kurosaki Ichigo?" he asked, voice deep and echoing. One hand dove into his pocket to pull out a small index card. "You have orange hair and a constant scowl…"

Someone in the crowd snickered.

Ichigo growled. "Yes, that's me," he admitted because he couldn't see where lying would do him any good. Not when there were so many people who knew the truth around him.

The man in the middle, obviously the leader, lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Well then, this song is for you." He gestured and snapped his fingers, mouth opening with the intention of beginning to sing.

"No! Stop!" Tatsuki yelled before they could even start. "Just… _don't_. Why the hell are you singing to him in the first place?"

The one on the right, better resembling a sports player than a vocalist, grinned. "We were hired to."

"By who?" Inoue asked, hugging her books to her chest.

The leader shrugged again. "I don't know. He just identified himself as A Special Friend." He eyed Tatsuki, Inoue, and Ichigo sharply. "So can we finish or what?"

"No!" Ichigo denied, tongue finally ungluing itself from its stuck position in his mouth. "Hell, no. I've had enough!" he said and turned on his heel, striding quickly down the hall without another backward glance.

Clearly, his stalker hadn't given up.

* * *

Ichigo's patience and sanity, already strained to the limits, suffered another beating a mere three days later. It was the weekend, and with the intent of relaxing after grueling mid-semester exams, Ichigo wanted nothing more than to relax. Kick back. Take a breather. Renji and Ikkaku were supposed to be coming by, and everyone was going to go out for drinks. Hell, even Ishida was supposed to come back to town long enough for everyone to hang out.

It was supposed to be a nice, relaxing day. After a wonderful meal with his sisters – Isshin's presence tolerated for the sake of Yuzu – Ichigo expected to have a reasonably decent night.

Until he stepped out of his house and happened to look up into the sky. Originally, his intentions had been to admire the sunset as the sky was a nice blend of oranges, pinks, and pale blues at the furthest edge. What caught his attention first, however, was that a message had been written across the sprawling and cloudless expanse.

_Roses are red. Violets are blue. Strawberries are sweet. I'm sure you are, too. _

Ichigo gaped. Feeling his cheeks burn even though there was no way a random stranger would know that the message was meant for him. Of course, he could read the insinuations in that small, stupid poem. Who else would do something so crazy and inane but his stalker?

Not for the first time did Ichigo wonder who in the hell it was. He didn't think he knew anyone who could be so stupid and obvious and ridiculous. There was also the possibility that it was all some huge, practical joke. Ichigo had considered that, too. Then again, he didn't know anyone who would go to such lengths to play a joke on him either.

Then again, there was _one_ person who would do something so retarded. Ichigo distinctly remembered one occasion where a message had been painted on his wall in something that looked remarkably like blood. Or the time he'd been forced to say some ridiculous words in order to activate a so-called helmet of protection. Just to name a couple of instances. And something inane like the gifts and the message in the sky and the singing trio seemed right up that mysterious, shifty-eyed bastard's alley.

Ichigo's suspicions grew, spreading out thick roots until they planted inside of him and refused to be torn loose. However, he had no proof. And short of confronting the man who perpetually kept Ichigo in the dark about variously important things, Ichigo couldn't really do anything.

_Yet_.

Shaking his head, Ichigo kept his eyes on the sidewalk and stalwartly headed towards the bar where he was supposed to meet the others. Above him, the garish words gradually dissipated until nothing was left but wisps of smoke.

* * *

The next gift woke him with an excited yip and a wet tongue over his nose and face. Ichigo startled out of a warm sleep – strangely infested with erotic dreams of unknown origins – with a shout. He frantically flailed like a teenage girl confronted with a spider and batted away the offending attacker. He heard a yip and the sound of something dropping to the floor before he threw back the sheets and cast a glare around the room. One hand scrubbed furiously over the wetness on his face.

At first, he saw nothing. And then, he looked down. Catching sight of a wriggling, brown-furred creature that stared up at him with liquid brown eyes and a steadily wagging tail.

A puppy. Somehow, a puppy had gotten into his room.

Ichigo looked at the dog warily, wondering where, how, and when it had found its way into his presence. His first thought was that Yuzu or Karin must have given it to him. Or maybe even his crazy-ass father. It wasn't beyond Karin's idea of a funny joke. Perhaps they thought he was lonely in his new apartment, and Ichigo _had _given his sisters a copy of the key, just in case.

Then, he spotted something silver and shiny hanging from the puppy's neck. It looked like dog tags of some kind. Interested, Ichigo leaned down, reaching for the collar. Understandably, the puppy leapt up at him in excitement and gave another high-pitched yip. Rolling his eyes, Ichigo picked up the dog and put the wriggling creature into his lap, wrestling for a moment to get a hold of the gleaming tags.

The first one was pretty normal. Listing a birth date, an adoption number, and the origin of the puppy. The second, however, was clearly personalized.

_To Ichigo with love. Now, you can cuddle something other than your pillow!_

Ichigo felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment. _Great_. His stalker had been observing his sleeping patterns. _Wonderful_. Things couldn't possibly get any better than this.

The dog leapt up with a surprisingly agile motion and licked at the bottom of Ichigo's chin. Tail wagging with increased fervor. He – at least, Ichigo was assuming here – kept turning this way and that in Ichigo's lap as though making himself comfortable. Obviously, the dog was to be Ichigo's. Obviously, the puppy needed a name.

He ignored the amused cackles from Shirosaki in the back of his mind as well as the unnecessary and coarse name suggestions. He also ignored Zangetsu's hum of bemusement. As though holding some secret that Ichigo hadn't yet realized.

A puppy. His stalker had gotten him a goddamned puppy. Ichigo dreaded to think what was next.

* * *

In the end, Ichigo kept the puppy. Mostly because he couldn't bear to take the poor thing back to the animal shelter. He knew that if he did, Peaches would only be killed. And yes, the name was lame. It was the best he could come up with considering the situation.

Luckily, his stalker had thought ahead. Not only providing Ichigo with food, water, and dishes – all conveniently placed within the kitchen – but also bringing a pet bed. Therefore, Peaches lacked for nothing. Of course, his friends found the fluff-ball utterly adorable and while they had questioned the puppy's fortuitous appearance, they decided the dog wasn't really a threat and let it be.

Sighing, Ichigo leaned over to try and attach the leash to Peaches' collar so he could take the damned dog out for a walk. But the puppy kept doing a little happy dance, refusing to sit still long enough for him snap the latch in place. He wrestled with Peaches for several minutes more before. Relieved, Ichigo let his new pet lead the way as they exited the apartment.

It was a warm spring day. Birds chirping. Flowers blooming. Ichigo cast a worried glance to the sky. But there wasn't a single cloud in sight, not even an artificial one. Just an endless blue sky. Other people were walking, too. With friends and family, a few with pets. Altogether, it was rather peaceful.

Until his senses crawled, and a familiar roar pierced the pleasant quiet. Peaches yipped, dancing in place as Ichigo swung his gaze around to search for the Hollow. It had to be nearby; he could practically feel the hungry stare. One hand dove into his pocket, reaching for his Shinigami badge. And then, Peaches yipped again, reminding Ichigo of his presence.

Damn. He'd forgotten about the puppy. He didn't really like the thing, but it wouldn't be fair for Peaches to get hurt either.

Another roar ripped through the gentle afternoon, and Ichigo whirled catching sight of the monstrous Hollow as it stalked his general direction. Was it after Ichigo or some easier prey?

He didn't know. It didn't matter. He had to stop it.

Ichigo's fingers closed about the badge. He lifted it out of his pocket, bringing it towards himself with full intentions to shift into his Shinigami form.

"Look out!"

Something barreled into his body before he could complete the motion. Ichigo tumbled sideways, falling head over heels into a nearby bush, bristling with thorns and bright pink flowers. Peaches came tumbling with him as Ichigo received a face full of flowers and leaves. And the badge bounced out of his fingers as Ichigo flailed to get free of the bush.

A prickle of power spiked in the air, a feeling much like that of a Shinigami. And as Ichigo spluttered and fought to right himself, he ran the voice through his head again.

He _knew_ that voice.

Spitting out bits of leaves and shoving off Peaches – who had pounced on him trying to lick his face, oblivious to the possible danger – Ichigo extracted himself from the bush and tumbled out onto the sidewalk. A blur went crashing by him, slamming into the pavement and releasing a keening moan of pain. Ichigo blinked as he realized that it was the Hollow. Covered in blood and looking much worse for wear.

It struggled to get up from the ground. One arm nothing less than a mangled mess beneath it. And a leg also suffered from the same destruction.

Gaping, Ichigo traced the Hollow's origin and found none other than Urahara Kisuke cheerfully hunting the Hollow down. Geta clacking loudly on the pavement.

He tsk'ed loudly, shaking his head. "Now, that wasn't very nice," Urahara-san said in an almost teasing tone. "You shouldn't attack my precious things."

The Hollow made a low growling noise in the back of its throat and flopped around wetly. Clearly not interested in Urahara-san's chastisement.

Reiatsu swam in the air, crawling over his senses. He watched as Urahara-san stopped in front of the Hollow, his eyes shadowed by that hat. Benihime swung lazily through the air, almost as an afterthought, and sliced neatly down. Chopping straight through the Hollow's white mask.

There was an echoing sound of agony before the Hollow began to dissolve. Body whiting out until nothing was left.

It took Ichigo several moments to realize that he was still sprawled over the pavement in an undignified fashion. Peaches pranced around him, yipping excitedly. As though this was some new game his master had developed. And Urahara-san was idly wiping down Benihime's blade before returning the zanpakutou to her hiding place within his cane.

Ichigo rocked forward, scrambling to his feet, cheeks heated. "You!" he spluttered, ignoring the strange looks he was garnering from passing strangers. One pointing finger shook from the force of his indignation. "You! I should have known it was you!"

Urahara-san smiled at him and approached at a slow pace like he had all day. "Did you like my presents?" he asked, pointedly glancing at the excited Peaches before looking at Ichigo again. "I put a lot of thought into them."

Choking on his next breath, Ichigo struggled to form a coherent response. He felt his face getting hotter and hotter as he tried to decide whether he was flattered or offended.

"You!" was all he managed to say again, shoving a finger in Urahara-san's direction once again.

"Me," Urahara-san agreed, kneeling to pet Peaches and making soft cooing noises to the over-excitable puppy. "You seem to be a little slow on the uptake, Kurosaki-kun."

Ichigo dragged in a heavy breath, forcing himself to calm. It wouldn't do him any good to deck the self-satisfied man in front of him. At least the mystery was solved, right? He should be relieved for that. Even if it had turned out to be Urahara-san.

Ichigo's eyes widened as the realization struck home. It was _Urahara-san. _He'd been sending the gifts .The flowers and the chocolates and the singing trio and the puppy and the message in the sky. They were all from him.

Urahara-san liked him. When the fuck had that happened? And how? Why?

His reaction must have shown on his face because Urahara-san laughed again and straightened. Letting Peaches dance around their feet.

"You never answered my question," he said. "Did you like the gifts?"

"The singing trio was a bit over the top," Ichigo responded in a strained tone. "Or maybe the message in the sky was worse. I'm not really sure." A large part of him really wanted to find the nearest bed and collapse in it. "What were you thinking?"

Urahara-san lifted his shoulders. "Seemed the best way of getting your attention." He lifted a hand, tilting his hand back and revealing the gray-green of his eyes. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Along with mortifying me in the process!" Ichigo growled out, though he was warmed by the sentiment. The geta-boushi had liked him enough to try and get his attention. Granted he could have picked another method, but it was kind of… flattering. Almost. If he turned his head to the side, leaned back, and squinted.

"An unfortunate side effect," Urahara-san dismissed with a wave of his hand and then turned his intense gaze fully on Ichigo. "Well, what's your answer?"

"To what?" Ichigo demanded, hating that his voice came out more like a squawk.

At his feet, Peaches plopped down and looked up at both men. Tail perpetually wagging.

Urahara-san rolled his eyes. "To my confession of course, Kurosaki-kun!"

"What confession! You haven't even said anythi- Woah!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Urahara-san swooped in and kissed him. Well, if kiss was what he wanted to call the messy, sloppy, warm, and wet merging of their lips that the blond inflicted on him. Ichigo briefly thought of struggling. They were in the street after all and kissing like there was no tomorrow. It was even more mortifying.

But then, Urahara-san did something with his tongue that made Ichigo's insides melt, and a moan gurgled in his throat before he could stop it. The shopkeeper tasted like tea and sweetness. And one of Ichigo's hands flailed before tangling in his haori and clinging to it, unsure if he wanted to drag the shopkeeper closer or shove him away.

Urahara-san broke off the kiss with a lingering swipe of his tongue over Ichigo's mouth. And then, he grinned.

"Well?" he prompted, licking his own lips as though savoring the lingering sensation of their kiss. "You get it now?"

Ichigo stared. "You could have used words," he said hoarsely, brain thoroughly turned to mush.

"Since when have words ever gotten through to you," Urahara-san retorted good-naturedly, and his grin widened. "I think you're avoiding the question, Kurosaki-kun."

"Ichigo," he corrected hazily because it just seemed weird for Urahara-san to call him so formally after their years-long association and all the things they'd been through together. "Isn't it about time you started calling me that?"

A slow chuckle built in Urahara-san's chest before it bubbled past his lips. "And don't you think you should start calling me Kisuke, _I-chi-go?_" He drew out each syllable with a peppy click, somehow making them roll of his tongue.

"If you insist," Ichigo retorted, feeling his cheeks warm all over again.

He supposed it could have been worse. His stalker could've been Kenpachi or Keigo or – he shuddered – that freak from the twelfth division. That his secret admirer turned out to be Urahara-san… Well, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"And in answer to your previous question," Ichigo continued as Peaches yipped around his feet, tangling the leash around the two and making a hopeless mess. "It wouldn't hurt to give things a try."

Urahara-san – or Kisuke rather – looked at him. And a slow, genuine smile curved his lips.

"I can live with that," he said. Abruptly turning around, the blond grabbed Ichigo's hand and pulled him down the sidewalk. "What do you say? Lunch? I'm rather fond of tempura."

Ichigo, for his part, did nothing but allow Kisuke to drag him along for the ride. There were worse days to spend a lazy afternoon, he supposed.

* * *

a/n: Feels a little strange to go back to the humorous crack of old after all that angst and drama. *laughs* I hope you liked!

Also, I have a new oneshot out. "Heaven Can Wait" which is Gin/Ichigo piece too explicit for this site. Check my profile for links!


	167. Beautiful

**Title: Beautiful**

**Characters: Chad/Unohana**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: references to hetkisses and smut, spoilers?**

**Words: 862**

**Description: She thinks that he's beautiful. **

**Dedication: For **_**SilentInquisition**_**, who wanted a Chad/Anyone without unrequited love.**

**

* * *

**She thinks he's beautiful.

It has never bothered Retsu to refer to a man as such. And if he were bothered by her calling him that, he's never said anything. He simply smiles at her in his usual, gentle and unassuming way and draws her closer for a deep, warm kiss. His large fingers traveling up and down her spine, pressing deeply. Making her tingle and warm all over.

Retsu sighs in his embrace. Running her palm over his abdomen, across his broad chest, over his broad shoulders, across thick muscles that suit him perfectly without making him overly bulky. His skin is a lovely shade of burnished copper, eyes an inviting color of leaf-brown. Retsu loves nothing more than running her fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face to reveal the force of his steady gaze.

But as amazing as he is on the outside, words cannot express the wonder of the man beneath. He is loyal. Determined. Honest. He's a steady presence in a land of chaos. Where war has stripped nearly everything of beauty from the world. He is a rock, unchanging and unmoving but still striking in his strength.

Retsu knows that people stare at their relationship with wide eyes and loud whispers. That the others can't seem to understand the value of emotion shared between two people who have managed to find something of worth.

She is too old for him; he is too young for her. She is Shinigami; he is human. A rather unique human. But still just a human. And perhaps Retsu can understand their concerns. Even she isn't certain why she stepped past her own boundaries to embrace this young man.

Retsu thinks it may have begun during the war. When she patched his brutally broken and bleeding body back together. She remembers finding him. Or what was left after Nnoitra had finished toying with him. There had been so much blood, so much brokenness. Retsu had feared he was dead.

But he hadn't been. He had sensed her presence. And the moment he lifted his head from the sand – only a few inches – and met her gaze with his own, she'd seen his strength. Speaking had only produced bubbles of blood, but Retsu had understood. She'd known what he needed.

She remembers healing him, remembers watching him suffer the pain of his body knitting together at an accelerated rate. Retsu remembers thinking that this much suffering should not be endured by this strong man. Just a child in her eyes really. Just an innocent.

Once healed, he'd been adamant. He'd wanted one thing alone. To return to Kurosaki-kun's side. To join his friend in battle again because he knew that Ichigo would need him, that his strength was necessary. The determination and the loyalty blazed so brightly in his eyes that Retsu's breath had caught.

Maybe that had been the moment she had fallen for him.

War can change so many things. Loss and heartbreak and blood and tears; there's no forgetting any of it. Not the sting of betrayal or the sweep of a swamping reiatsu or the agony of weeping over a fallen friend. There is no way to tame the pain or abandon it, one can only endure. And if one is really lucky, they can find someone to share it with.

But the war is years and years ago. Over a decade. And Retsu has things she'd rather be doing than dwelling on the past. Things like moving forward with the wonderful man who managed to capture her without even trying. Who treats her heart as something precious. And isn't afraid of the smile in her eyes.

A finger brushes Retsu's chin then. Gently but strongly.

"What are you thinking?" her lover asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Usually one for silent support, Retsu has taken great pleasure in drawing out the more vocal side of him. Both for idle conversation and for… _other perks_.

She takes his hand and brings his large, strong fingers to her lips, pressing a kiss against the broad palm. Scarred, more scarred than it should be but a testament to his strength.

"You," she says with a hum of amusement, one that he echoes with a chuckle. "And how beautiful you are."

He doesn't blush, doesn't sputter. Doesn't draw away and immediately demand that she use a better word because men aren't _beautiful. _He just smiles at her, joy dancing in his eyes, and leans down for another kiss. Gentle at first. But like always, it's quick to betray the depth of his passion.

Retsu doesn't mind. She simply reaches up, entwining her fingers through his wavy hair as he leans to accommodate her shorter height. She wants nothing more than to stumble backwards into a shared bedroom, where a futon is laid out expectantly. To let the warm spring breeze wash over their nude bodies. To let the sun darken his copper skin to a deeper shade. To feel the force of his passion.

He really is gorgeous. And Retsu takes great pleasure in proving that to him, every chance she gets.

* * *

a/n: I love writing about Chad. He's only a minor character at best (at least recently anyway) but he's such a solid, unwavering character. He doesn't have any major angst issues piling up around him and he's just rock-steady. He's one of my favorites! And it helps that he's gorgeous.

I hope you enjoyed! More ficcage is upcoming!

Oh, and I've a new fic out today as well, "After the Fall" - Ukitake/Stark, as well as a newly published original work whose links can be found in my profile. Thanks for reading!


	168. Untouched

**Title: Untouched**

**Pairings: Jyuushiro/****Shunsui/Nanao**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: language, some OOC, mentions of sexual behavior **

**Words: 3,286**

**Description: The two of them want a woman who doesn't exist, but Jyuushiro and Shunsui are determined to believe otherwise.**

**Dedication: For **_**ravensrising**_**, who wanted to see this threesome.**

**Inspired by a song from the Veronicas. Sequel to **_**Take Me on the Floor**_

_**

* * *

**_Cornering Ise Nanao is like trying to trap a zoo-raised tiger. Captivity has dulled her natural instincts, but it still hasn't bred out the ferocity or the danger.

Kyouraku Shunsui chuckles to himself at that. She is certainly like a tiger in many ways. Feisty. Beautiful. Not easily tamed. In fact, he still has marks across his back from her fingers. He half-wonders if they'd scar. No, more than that, he _hopes_ they would. What a lovely memento such marks would be.

Unfortunately, his brilliant Nanao-chan is being quite the skittish animal. True, she shows up every day, on time, fully composed and ready to complete her duties. True, she berates him as usual, eyes as cold as a glacier and lips even thinner and more stern than usual. But the slight edge of bending, the slight softness to her exterior has all but vanished. Leaving Shunsui with a quite prickly Nanao-chan indeed.

In fact, she's _so_ frosty lately, that Shunsui worries she's been taking lessons from Byakuya-bo. Or worse, Toushirou-kun.

Shunsui sighs and drops his bearded chin into his palm. Elbows planted firmly over a desk papered in important documents that all require his necessary signature. At some point. When he gets around to it. Or snags one of the lower seats and bribes them into doing it. At this point, pretty much anyone in his division can forge his signature. Not to mention half of the thirteenth and – strangely enough – a good portion of the tenth.

"Why so distressed, Shun?"

He doesn't even have to look up to recognize the identity of his visitor. Not when Shunsui knows this man's reiatsu as intimately as he knows his own. He sensed his dear friend coming long before Jyuushiro even stepped out of his office.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Shunsui exhales drolly as his other half, smiling, circles the desk and props himself at his side. Soaking up all of Shunsui's extra heat as was his usual. To be fair, it is rather nippy outside, and Jyuushiro's illness always makes him thin as a twig no matter how much he eats.

"The hunt not going well, I take it?" the other man asks, amused. Hand smoothing over Shunsui's thigh.

The brunet's brow quirks. "Don't tell me you're having better luck?"

"It's quite like trying to catch a song bird," Jyuushiro remarks after a moment's pause, smelling of thunderstorms and sweet treats. "I'm allowed close enough to admire her beauty, exchange polite pleasantries. And then, she flits away. So quickly and properly that I'm too busy noticing her delicate flight to realize she's once again escaped my grasp."

Shunsui blinks and breaks into laughter. The rich sound fills the small confines of his office – unfortunately lacking Nanao-chan at the moment.

"You're such a poet," he teases and nudges his shoulder gently where Jyuushiro's head rests. "And at least you've managed polite conversation. I've been returned to _Kyouraku-taichou_. And even_ taichou-san _a few times."

They shudder in tandem.

"How unfair of her." Jyuushiro pats his thigh in sympathy. "Clearly, we must change our tactics. The gifts aren't working. And our intentions couldn't be more obvious. We must figure out why Ise-san resists us."

"It might have something to do with your determination to call her _Ise-san_," Shunsui teases with another nudge. "I'd think we're a bit past that point, lover-boy."

"Be quiet, _taichou-san_, I'm thinking," the other captain banters back good-naturedly.

Shunsui gladly falls into silence, swearing that he can see the gears turning in his best friend's head. Between them, choosing to accept Nanao-chan and bring her into their relationship wasn't without its difficulties. But Jyuushiro, like Shunsui, has grown to love the bespectacled woman and feels like Nanao-chan deserves the chance to be treated properly. Loved and adored and occasionally teased.

"This will require every ounce of our not-inconsiderable experience," Jyuushiro finally admits with a sigh, nudging Shunsui gently with his elbow.

A slow, flirty grin curls the brunet's lips. "Corner her in the storage room, then?"

"You read my mind."

* * *

Nanao, no matter how much she attempts to convince herself that she's paranoid, knows she's being stalked. She doubts that either Ukitake-san or her own foolish captain would call it such, but the feeling trickling down her spine can have no other name. Nanao knows that they're watching her, waiting to catch her at any moment, alone and vulnerable. Convincing her with their pretty words and their breathless kisses and their debilitating smiles.

Nanao's aware of this as surely as she knows she can't let it happen again. The woman that they met in the living world. The Nanao with her hair free and her tight, sparkling dress and her abandoned inhibitions… she doesn't exist in Soul Society. What Ukitake-san and her captain are looking for cannot happen.

Nanao won't let it. Not now. Not again.

Taking a deep breath, Nanao forces herself to focus on her work. It's a late Tuesday night, and the eighth division is all but abandoned save for the minimal night staff. Nanao is in the records room, organizing rows and rows of shelves in desperate need of straightening. As they have been for quite some time.

She's only been putting it off for so long because there are so many other things that can be done. But now that she has the time and admittedly a small need to make herself scarce, Nanao can organize her documents and paperwork in peace. Her captain won't be found within a hundred yards of the office after quitting time, and Ukitake-san isn't likely to visit any division that isn't his at such an hour either. Thus, it is a perfect place to keep out of their eyesight.

Plus, the storage room has the added benefit of being nice and quiet. Filled with the pleasing and comforting scent of old papers, books, and files. It brings to mind happier times. Like a hundred years past when her senpai was still in Soul Society and things hadn't been so… crazy.

But then, reiatsu stirs on the edge of Nanao's senses and distracts her from alphabetizing. She pauses, head cocked to the side. There is familiarity in the gentle hum of pressure, and she turns to look. Only to find Ukitake-san standing in the open doorway of the storeroom.

Well, there goes one assumption right out the window.

"Ukitake-taichou," Nanao greets politely, arms burdened by a stack of decades-old paperwork. "Were you looking for someone?"

He smiles, and it is such a pretty thing. Enough to make a warm fluttering come to life in Nanao's belly.

However, she viciously fights that down. Stabs it in the chest and burns it to ash.

"As a matter of fact, I was," he answers and looks around the cluttered storeroom pointedly as he moves further inside. Now within several steps of her and hovering near a messy bookcase. "You're here awful late, Ise-san."

"I had the time to spare," Nanao responds despite the hitch in her breathing and very carefully places her armful of papers on a nearby table, already searching for an escape. "Though you have a point. It _is_ approaching midnight, and I should probably head back to my quarters-"

"So soon?"

The voice slips into the dark so smoothly that Nanao can't even be startled. She does, however, freeze. Turn slowly. Catch sight of her captain standing in the doorway with an unopened bottle of wine in one hand.

"The old man here may think it's too late, but I know for a fact that the night's still young," he adds with one of his ever-so-charming grins and a pointed wink. He wiggles the bottle pointedly.

They've cornered her. And like the fool she is, Nanao allowed it. She played right into their hands. She only wonders how longing they've planned this.

Nanao grasps for control of herself and draws up straight. Planting her sternest expression on her face. Eyes narrowing into slits even as her mind fires at light speed for an escape.

"As you well know, taichou, I've work that must be completed early in the morning."

It's a flimsy excuse at best. And everyone knows it.

Kyouraku-taichou waves a hand of dismissal. "Ah, your boss is a jerk anyway. You should join us for a drink," he suggests and steps further into the room. Bringing with him a subtle, enticing cologne that Nanao's traitorous nostrils all but flare to trap.

Adjusting her glasses, she stands so straight it feels as if a metal rod is pressed against her spine. "This… is highly irregular, taichou."

And she hopes that she sounds stern and stubborn enough that both of them will lose all ideas of a repeat performance out of their heads. She isn't a plaything. And they can't bully her into anything. Not that she thinks they'd ever actually try. Persuade, yes. Hint, certainly. But they'd back off if she flat out told them to stop.

The only question is why hasn't she done that yet?

Ukitake-san chuckles. "The fact that Shunsui's actually in his office? Or were you referring to something else?" Amusement dances in his face, brightening his eyes, making him look even softer. Younger.

Gasping in mock outrage, her captain sweeps his hat from his head and presses it against his chest. "Jyuu-chan, it's not fair for you to pick on me."

"On the contrary, I think I have quite the right. Though no more so than Ise-san. Right?" Ukitake-san gives her that winning, gentle smile again. The sort that makes her knees weaken and her heart warm.

Nanao nods weakly, feeling her breath quicken. She can't help but recall that night. The warmth and the passion and the pleasure. And she forces herself to fight down feelings of longing. She can't be that woman again. It was a mistake letting them witness her like that. Let them see anything but the prim and proper lieutenant.

That's what she is, after all. Nothing else. Nothing more.

"Though I don't believe you are here to do work as much as you are here to escape from it," Nanao says with a belated, "_sir_."

Her captain laughs, deep and rich. And places his hat off to the side. The deep-brown waves of his hair practically gleam in the dim lighting.

"My sweet, Nanao-chan, your scolding is like familiar music to my ears. I feel as if I've not heard it in so long."

"She _has_ been doing an excellent job of avoiding us, hasn't she, Shun?" Ukitake-san comments, daring to step closer as he takes the wine bottle and sets it off to the side. "And after we went through such great efforts, too."

Completely without her permission, her heart performs a strange thump. Eyes darting between the two attractive and alluring men.

"Right down the drain they went," Kyouraku-taichou agrees. His warm gaze watches Nanao from a respectable distance but still manages to make her breath flutter and skin heat. "She never even gave us a chance."

Without realizing how close to the edge she's been standing, Nanao breaks.

"A chance for what?" she blurts out, hands fisting at her sides. "That was a one time event. A fluke. The person you met down there doesn't exist."

Funny how false the words fall from her lips. Funny that she can't even seem to convince herself.

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," Ukitake-san replies gently.

And he's so close now. When did that happen? Nanao can't even remember him approaching her.

He lifts a hand toward her face. And Nanao doesn't move, barely breathes as she feels the warmth of his bare fingers cup her cheek.

"She's definitely here. Only hiding. Perfectly concealed by poise."

His words are careful, quiet, a bare whisper in the cluttered storeroom. But somehow, they mesmerize Nanao. Her limbs are no longer ready to flee but feel frozen in place. Even when his hand slips past her face and reaches for the piece that is pinning her hair in place. She doesn't resist or so much as a blink as her hair falls across her shoulders. Nanao can feel it brushing against the nape of her neck teasingly, and it reminds her of the soft press of lips.

Nanao can only watch him as he trails his hands through her hair. His fingers graze the side of her cheek, a bare touch that makes her shiver, makes her clamp down on a moan. Makes her squirm where she stands though she tries to fight it.

Nanao swallows thickly and struggles to find her composure. "It's unprofessional, sir."

But her voice is barely above a whisper and hardly a shade of her usual stern tone. It betrays how much his proximity and teasing touch has affected her.

How can it not? Someone would have to be blind to miss how very handsome and charming Ukitake-taichou can be. Not only blind but deaf and dumb as well. And Nanao is none of those three things. She has noticed. She has noticed many, many times before. But always filed such secret thoughts away. They'd never go anywhere. Never amount to anything.

Behind her – and where, when, _how_ did that happen? – her captain chuckles. His laugh slips through the room like soft silk.

"That sort of argument won't work with us, Nanao-chan," Kyouraku-taichou says, and she knows he's gotten closer.

Nanao is so aware of his presence that the hair on her skin raises and her flesh prickles. She can feel his heat at her back, and her body eagerly anticipates his touch, even as her mind tries to remind her of all the reasons this is such a bad idea.

"Would you give us a chance, Nanao?" Ukitake-san asks softly. Voice an enticing whisper as his fingers brush against the side of her neck. "Could I have another taste?"

He's so close that Nanao can taste him on her lips. Or maybe that's just the memory of him. Either way, her tongue unconsciously drags over her lips, and she thinks that maybe she's already surrendered. That the fact that she's here and not running away or blasting either of them with a kidoh and making her escape proves that this is what she wants. True, a spell probably won't do either of them lasting harm, but they are both gentleman – even her captain – and would recognize it for a true rejection on her part.

If Nanao _truly_ wants to escape, she'll have no difficulty in doing so. If she truly wants to walk away, turn her back on their warmth and their affection and their skin-tingling touches, all she has to do is say it. Open her mouth, take in a breath, form the words with her lips. Let her vocal chords do the rest.

It seems so simple, so easy. And Nanao's lips part with the intention of being stubborn, of following through with her denial. Instead, however, she leans forward and closes the short distance between herself and Uki- No, Jyuushiro. If she's going to kiss him, then he will be Jyuushiro to her.

Their lips meet in an open-mouthed kiss that tastes of candy, and Nanao's hands ball into fists, unsure of what else she should do to them. A moan bubbles up in her throat but goes no further. Jyuushiro's mouth is soft, skilled, and his fingers stroke her cheek as his tongue slips out to meet hers. Tentatively at first but then with greater confidence as it's clear she's not going to pull away.

She's not walking away either. No, Nanao is doing the complete opposite of walking away. Her hands rise of their own accord and grip into the front of his shihakushou. She moves forward a half-step to crash against the front of him, mashing their lips together. She's panting into the kiss, sucking air through her nose, desperate for more. Feeling like something once trapped finally set loose.

Jyuushiro groans into her mouth, even more so when she nibbles on his lips. Nanao pulls him closer, tries to crawl into his clothing so that they can be pressed skin to skin. The fact that they are in the eighth division storehouse has completely escaped her mind. All Nanao cares about is the here and now. Not the eventual consequences. Most certainly not tomorrow.

"See?" Jyuushiro murmurs against her mouth, voice traveling down her spine and settling low in her belly. "I knew she was hiding."

"It's safer that way," Nanao says in return, fingers flexing their grip as her eyelashes flutter.

"Hmm. Perhaps." Jyuushiro tickles at her chin and draws away far enough that he can get a good look at her. The sort of look that a man gives when eying a very delectable treat. "Safer, yes. However, dear Nanao, life is more than caution."

She shivers. "So I'm beginning to see."

His thumb strokes her face. And then Jyuushiro's dark gaze slips past her, settling warmly on her captain. Still standing behind her, strangely quiet, strangely unmoving. Nanao would've expected him to make some sort of move by now.

"Are you just going to watch, Shun?" There's a hint of humor in Jyuushiro's tone. Along with a thick dose of heat and want.

Kyou- No, he's Shunsui here. And he chuckles behind her. Then, there's a quiet sound like clothes rustling.

"You two are putting on a very pretty show," the brunet comments, tone thick with concealed desire. "I'm not so sure I should interrupt."

Jyuushiro smiles and kisses her again before turning her around to face her captain. Nanao's breath catches in her throat at the hunger in Shunsui's eyes, the way his face has flushed with yearning. She can feel the weight of Jyuushiro's hands on her shoulders, and she can feel him pressed up against her from behind. Nosing into the side of her neck and exhaling hotly over her skin.

But just that one look from her captain, that one look of intense desire makes her weak in the knees. Makes her want to close her eyes and surrender.

Shunsui steps closer, a sound like a hum echoing in his throat. "That's it, my dear," he encourages, lifting a hand to trail through her hair the opposite of where Jyuushiro nips at her throat. "You're so beautiful like this."

The bare touch is delicious and just not enough. Are they determined to drive her to the brink? She can feel Jyuushiro's hands, sliding down to settle on her hips. They rub across her sides slowly. Making Nanao hyper-aware of his every action, even as her eyes are for her captain alone.

"You say you've been chasing me?" Nanao questions with the words almost a growl as she lifts her hands, bunching them in the loose folds of his silly, pink haori. "But you seem too determined to watch and talk, _Shunsui_."

His eyes flash as she purrs his name. Nanao, grateful for finally having some of the control return to her, nearly squeaks as he leans down and his mouth crashes over hers. Memories of their previous encounter come flooding back in glorious color and sounds. And Nanao moans, trapped between the two powerful, attractive men.

Only for one second – as Shunsui's fingers tease at her obi and Jyuushiro's mouth works magic on her neck – does Nanao remind herself that this isn't supposed to be happening. She's supposed to walk away. These things never work out. It's impossible. Improbable. Dangerous. She'll only get her heart broken in the end. Only have it stomped on as always. Be discarded or forgotten.

But somehow, this feels different. And either way, she can't bring herself to care.

Then Jyuushiro whispers into her ear, and Shunsui kisses her like he's trying to claim her, and Nanao abandons all of those thoughts. Her hands move of their own accord, sliding Shunsui's haori from his shoulders. The other reaches behind her to pull Jyuushiro more firmly against her back, molding him against her.

She doesn't speak, doesn't say that she's accepting them. But they seem to understand nonetheless. And whatever tomorrow brings, Nanao will face it then.

Now is for letting herself surrender. Now is for letting them in.

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a/n: Threesomes are such fun to write! Also, it's come to my attention that there's been some hunting going around this site concerning content in stories. Well, if I should ever disappear, just remember that you can find me at my homesite and my livejournal, both links available in my profile. Also, googling this penname links you to my personal site as well.

More drabbles to come. Sorry for the delay everyone! Bleach has not been impressing me for the past half year (give or take) so my interest in the fandom has been waning. Never fear, however, I will complete all stories in progress and the requests I've already received!

Thanks for reading! I do hope you enjoyed!


	169. Art Appreciation

a/n: Phew. Another request done. I feel so accomplished. Enjoy!

**Title: Art Appreciation**

**Characters: Yumichika/Kira**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: boykisses and boysmut, no plot, just porn**

**Words: 862**

**Description: Everyone's a critic. Most of the time. Yumichika, however, considers himself a connoisseur.**

**Dedication: For **_**Darkness_Immortal**_**, who requested this pairing.**

**

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**"Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful skin?"

Izuru gasped. His fingers bunched in the blanket as he arched his back, rocking his hips in time to steady thrusts.

"Of course," he panted and dragged his tongue over his lips. "You. Just last week."

Chuckling, Yumichika leaned over him. His lips pressed to Izuru's shoulder as his fingers flexed on slender hips.

"Well, it's true," he purred, one hand sliding up and around the blond's waist to lazily cup his straining arousal. He massaged the hard flesh.

Izuru moaned. And shivers danced down his spine as his body moved beneath Yumichika's.

"I can't decide if you're complimenting me for my sake or yours."

His lover chuckled gently. Hips rolling as he surged forward.

"Probably a little bit of both," Yumichika answered.

"I should've known."

But it came out more of a gasp as he sucked in a breath and licked his lips. Still tasting his lover on them. He pushed back, urging Yumichika deeper. Loving the motion of their hips, almost as if they were dancing here on the bed.

"Am I so transparent?"

"Only to someone who knows you this well."

"Someone like you?" Yumichika asked, amused. Leaning over to breathe hotly over the back of Izuru's neck. Tongue touching the curve of Izuru's ear briefly.

Moaning, the vice-captain felt the lazy fire curl inside of him. Building and building as Yumichika stoked the flames. Adding more fuel.

"Yes," he groaned. And couldn't be sure it was in response to the question or the wicked things Yumichika was doing with his hips.

The other man chuckled. And it was a silky, sexy sound that made Izuru shiver and goosebumps rise across his skin.

"I think that we know each other very well, don't you?" he commented in a slightly evil tone that spoke of long hours of teasing if the lieutenant wasn't careful.

Yumichika's fingers stroked Izuru in all the ways he liked best. Making a steady fire burn within him. Curling and coiling in his belly. Spreading languid heat through his limbs. Making his toes curl.

Izuru gasped, struggling to find coherency. "You know… me best," he managed to grit out. And was rewarded for the proper answer by a particularly wonderful thrust perfectly timed with a flick of Yumichika's wrist.

Pleasure sparked through him, and Izuru shuddered. A moan passed through his lips as he clamped down and came, spilling all over Yumichika's fingers. Izuru panted, delicious bliss lingering and peppering through his body as Yumichika managed a few more thrusts before his own release crashed over him.

Izuru was treated to the sound of Yumichika's ecstasy, a throaty moan that always tingled down the blond's spine. Kisses covered his upper back as Yumichika's fingers gently stroked his hip. Another hand lightly touched Izuru's softening arousal and threatened to bring him back to life once again.

"Your skin's even more beautiful when colored with pleasure," Yumichika all but purred.

Izuru shivered, arching beneath him. He loved the way their skin slid together. Sleek and soft. Covered in sweat.

"And you're full of compliments tonight," the vice-captain murmured in return as his lover guided him to his side. Both now lay across the rumpled futon as Yumichika slid out of him.

"This is different from any other night, how?" Yumichika asked, tone rich with humor as his unspoiled hand stroked over Izuru's arm and down his bare side.

The blond reached out, capturing Yumichika's hand and drawing it to his lips. Pressing a kiss against one finely manicured finger before drawing it into his mouth.

"No different at all."

He was treated to the sight of lavender eyes dilating with desire and the curl of Yumichika's lips.

"Haven't you had enough?" Yumichika asked, voice throaty and thick with renewed want.

Izuru's own mouth curled into a grin as his tongue traced the length of Yumichika's finger. Mimicking the actions he'd much rather be performing somewhere else.

"Of you? Never."

He knew he'd complimented the other man greatly because a hint of scarlet dotted his pale cheeks, but Yumichika just lowered his eyes demurely. Or pretended modesty at any rate since Yumichika was well-aware of his own attractiveness. And as well as he knew Izuru, the truth was equal in return.

Yumichika withdrew his fingers. Painting the saliva-coated digits over a pair of lips.

"Complimenting me will get you everywhere."

"I know," Izuru inserted with a smile.

And before Yumichika could react, the blond turned and covered him with his body, slanting his mouth over another.

Izuru received a rumble of appreciation in return and was utterly pleased when Yumichika moved fluidly into his touch. The blond's hand skated down a bare side. Palm ghosting over a firm, smooth abdomen.

Fair was fair after all. And even more than allowing Yumichika to embrace his body, Izuru fully enjoyed embracing Yumichika in return. Thrusting into that pliant form and watching pale skin flush crimson as his lover fluidly writhed beneath him.

Absolutely beautiful.

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a/n: More requests are on their way, as soon as I get off my arse and write them. I promise. I hope you enjoyed and thank you!


	170. My Horizontal Life

**Title: My Horizontal Life**

**Pairings: Lisa/Everyone**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: het, threesomes, yuri, language, kink, kink, kink but only mentions of such no actual explicitness… for now**

**Words: 1879**

**Description: Lisa thinks about past conquests – victorious or otherwise. **

**Title borrowed from a book by Chelsea Handler. **

**

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**Lisa has always believed in freedom of expression. The freedom to be who and whatever one wants to be. To experiment and enjoy life and all the little things. To taste and try anything once. To fill life with all sorts of flavors.

In fact, Lisa considers herself something of a connoisseur.

In men, that is. And well, the occasional woman as well. Curiosity has made for some very interesting encounters to say the least.

Lisa can no longer list them in order. Or by favorites. Or from best to worst, least to greatest, et cetera. It's hard enough just trying to list them _at all_ to be honest. Not that they are forgettable. Just that there's so many.

Some might call her a slut. Lisa prefers to thinking of it as keeping her options open and various.

Like the time she ended up in bed with Aizen Sousuke. Memorable not only because she popped his cherry, but also because he later turned out to be evil incarnate. Aizen, unsurprisingly, was a very good lay. Enthusiastic, adorable in his brief bouts with uncertainty, and Lisa cherishes the knowledge that he has incredibly sensitive ears. Every time she so much as breathed over them, he twitched and groaned and blushed a furious scarlet.

_Priceless. _

And then, there was the time she cornered Urahara Kisuke. Not long after he was named captain of the twelfth division. At the time, Lisa had wondered how that adorable dorkishness would carry over into the bedroom. That night, Lisa discovered the strangely shaped birthmark on Urahara's left buttock and was treated to a breakfast that would have been lovely if not for the kamibedamned tea.

She still shudders when she remembers it.

There were others, too.

Like Kuchiki Isshin long before he vanished. Lisa remembers him so strongly only because Isshin was one of the best she's ever taken to bed. He did things to her that she never imagined were possible. Leaving her body tingling even days later.

And Tousen Kaname, who was a mistake of epic proportions. Lisa believed his long soliloquies about the various facets of justice at random times in public were bad? Che. They had _nothing_ on the fact that the blind man actually cried "Justice!" when he came. Practically purring in content as though the very idea of Justice itself was a person.

That night, Lisa left unsatisfied, disturbed, and with nightmares for weeks following.

Of course, in order to chase away those terrible memories, she went out and found her another new experience. And where better to look than Tousen's best friend, Komamura Sajin? Who, by the way, is a _very _big boy. After Sajin, not only did Lisa rarely think about Tousen again, but she discovered a new liking for the feeling of fur against her bare skin. It was so soft and silky.

Somewhere in there, Lisa remembers a few good times with Shiba Kaien, too. Both before and after he was married, the latter including a very titillating threesome involving his wife. It was Kaien's birthday present. Frankly, Lisa was surprised that Shiba Miyako, who always seemed so prim and proper, was such a freak in the bed.

Sasakibe Choujirou and sex with him is all the proof that Lisa needs that not only are older men hot as hell but just as good in bed as younger men. Not only that, he was _kinky_. And in a very hot way. He suggested that they dress up in period clothing, old English outfits. And Lisa found the contrast between all the lace and strings and ruffles that covered every inch of her skin and the dirty things his fingers could do to her to be very arousing indeed. Especially when he bent her over the bed and they fucked as fully-clothed as possible, only the necessary body parts revealed.

In that same vein, Lisa vividly recalls a time spent comforting a bereaved Kuchiki Ginrei not long after the death of his wife. Lisa was curious, and Ginrei was a lonely, old man with a _very_ talented tongue. Seriously, he made her toes curl even now.

By contrast, Kurotsuchi Mayuri only stood out in her memories because he was such a lousy lay. The both of them – she and Kurotsuchi –found the whole affair to be dull and tedious. He's an attractive man beneath the make up and the psychoses, but it's an experience neither she nor he plan to repeat. Ever.

Muguruma Kensei is probably one of Lisa's more fond memories. Simply because he was the only man secure enough to let Lisa fuck _him_. Literally. Remembering that night still gives her goosebumps. And sometimes, when she catches his eye across the family dinner table, she knows he's thinking about it, too. She's pretty damn sure that he'd be up for a repeat performance. And well, Lisa wouldn't turn him down either. She still has her strap-on after all. Just waiting to be used again.

Also among her fellow Vizard, Lisa had a quite exhausting experience with Mashiro. Interested in trying women and experimenting, Lisa made suggestions to Mashiro, who practically squealed in glee. And later, Lisa would comment that having sex with her was like fucking a battery or the Energizer Bunny. Mashiro just kept going and going and going. And in the end, Lisa – the queen of sex and all things sex related – was the one exhausted.

Love was interesting because he'd wanted to switch things up by seeing what would happen if he had his mask on. And Lisa, intrigued, readily agreed. The mask made it impossible to kiss, but the feel of his reaitsu buzzing across her skin more than made up for that fact. Also, his voice sounded terribly sexy behind the mask. A raspy echo that sizzled down Lisa's spine and made her wet between the legs.

Her partner in crime, Rose, was also very fun. They picked one of their favorite scenes from one of Lisa's erotic manga and acted it out. With the really bad porn music and everything. She was half-surprised she could stop giggling long enough to actually get down to business. Then, Rose grabbed her, groped her, practically threw her down on the bed to rip off the goofy cheerleading outfit. And after that, the last thing on Lisa's mind was giggling.

Hachi, however, was one of the _best_. Sometimes, even more than Isshin. Aside from the fact that big boys need love too, Lisa was quick to understand just why having a kidoh specialist for a lover was a damn good thing indeed. He had talented hands and fingers, but more than that, Hachi had also developed some very interesting sex-related techniques that combined reaitsu and kidoh and left her tingling and sighing for days thereafter.

Hachi is one conquest that Lisa keeps returning to over and over, especially when she is in need of a good night's sleep. He exhausts her, turns her muscles to jelly, and his body heat is so comfortable. And well, the specially designed sex kidoh is a definite plus.

Of course, tied up in all of Lisa's successes are her various failures as well. Those she hadn't managed to convince and those she never tried at all.

Like Yamamoto-soutaichou. Not only is he older than dirt and possibly mankind itself, but the man has a fire zanpakutou. Lisa rather likes her womanly parts. She doesn't want to worry about them burning off.

And opposite of Yamamoto-soutaichou are Kuchiki Byakuya and Ichimaru Gin. At the time Lisa was in Soul Society, both of them were far, far too young. Lisa might dabble in middle-aged men, but she wants nothing to do with kids. And now, well, Ichimaru is hand-in-hand with the devil incarnate, and Kuchiki-hime has that _thing_ going on with Ichigo. Who is another "too young but damn she'd like to hit that in the future" name on her list.

Her captain, Kyouraku Shunsui, is another one that Lisa has never taken to bed. Strangely, she's never asked and he's never offered. They were always close, friends and associates, and there was understanding. Lisa often wondered if the rumors were true, if her captain was as phenomenal in bed as gossip claimed. But she never acted on her curiosity. And while her captain always flirted with her, it never hinted to more. Oddly, Lisa liked things that way.

Ukitake Jyuushiro, on the other hand, was someone Lisa regretted never getting the chance to taste. Imagining those centuries' worth of experience often made her hot all over. A frustration that was often worked out on someone else. But Jyuushiro is still too old-fashioned, only willing to take someone to bed if it meant something more than a fling. Not necessarily marriage and kids and all that jazz, but at least something more than a one night stand.

Alas.

Of course, who could forget Hirako Shinji? The man who never set so much as a finger in Lisa's bed and prides himself on that fact. Of course, now that she considers him the father/uncle/big brother she never had, Lisa has no intentions of stripping Shinji down to find all the goodies underneath his snazzy clothes. Regardless of what rumors she may've heard about his tongue and the piercing on it.

In the interest of expanding her experiences with women, Lisa also once made a single, disastrous play for Soifon. But since Lisa was not dark-skinned, golden-eyed, purple-haired and carrying the tendency to turn into a black cat, Lisa pretty much didn't exist to Soifon. Which is such a disappointment because if Lisa had managed to convince Soifon, she probably would've been able to convince Yoruichi. And from there would have been a threesome of every (straight) young man's fantasy.

Ah, but for chances missed and wasted.

So yes, Lisa likes to keep her options open. She has her eyes set on a few nicely ripened fruits now that the war's practically over and everyone is filled with "yay, we survived! Let's have sex" pheromones. That redheaded, tattooed brat from the sixth division is looking mighty tasty these days. As is the blond vice-captain from the third now that the shadows are gone from his eyes. Kensei's little admirer has grown into a rather tempting delight. And well, _someone _has to treat Hitsugaya for the man he is rather than the little kid everyone sees.

There's a whole Gotei 13 that's ripe for the taking. And now that the Vizard can return to Soul Society at their leisure – not that they are in any hurry – Lisa can sample the new delicacies to her liking.

Of course, her _ultimate _goal is to catch Ichigo and Byakuya _in flagrante delicto. _With video and everything.

But Lisa's willing to start small until she reaches that end. In fact, she distinctly remembers hearing something about a certain member of the seventh division in desperate need of being cured of his virginity.

Oh, goody. One of her specialties.

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a/n: Did I happen to mention that I was rusty on writing the Vizard and well, pretty much made up Lisa as I went along? Lol. I had so much fun writing this. Why? Because Lisa and I are so much alike! I'm a big fan of Lisa's philosophy. Heh. And seriously, if you had all of the Gotei-13 to chose from, why would you settle for just sampling a few here and there?

If I get the inspiration, I may try to make this a series and actually _describe_ some of these encounters. Fun times!

Ahem. I hope you enjoyed. See you next time!


	171. Desperate Measures

**Title: Desperate Measures**

**Characters: Aizen/Ichigo, random Shinigami**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: OOC, cracktastic**

**Words: 2288**

**Description: Forgive and forget had never proven truer. **

**Dedication: For **_**Demion69**_**, who wanted a sequel to **_**I Surrender**_

_**

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**_For several weeks, it was nothing but inquisitions and trials and questioning and counseling. The last more for Tousen than anyone else, though there were a few times that Unohana-taichou dragged Aizen and Ichimaru in as well. After all, they had – all three – attempted to destroy Soul Society and somehow become king, so there had to be _something _wrong with them.

Immediately following were copious amounts of public apologies not to mention personally written letters of regret. And they had to be sincere, or they didn't count. Yamamoto ensured that. Aizen and Ichimaru were quick to agree, no more willing to return to Hueco Mundo and their prior aspirations then they were to agree that letting Tousen wander around ungagged was a good idea.

Luckily, after hearing the man's continuous chant about justice, the rest of Soul Society was inclined to believe them.

Of course, by the time all was said and done, the Shinigami of Seireitei were left in quite the quandary. They still had three open positions for captaincy, and they weren't willing to trust the former traitors just yet. Not to mention they had all been geared up for a big, destructive war that now wasn't going to take place. Talk about deflated balloons.

Kurosaki Ichigo, for his part, was rather relieved that death and destruction wasn't going to rain down anymore. Not only because that saved him a rather nasty battle. But also because it meant he wouldn't have to face his boyfriend across the battlefield anymore. That was one thing he had hoped to avoid.

Aizen Sousuke, said boyfriend, was inclined to agree.

"You know," Sousuke said as he stretched an arm up and curled it behind himself. "This is rather nice."

Ichigo snorted. "You mean, aside from black nights, white sand, and your second-in-command listening outside our door?" he retorted from where he lay curled up at Sousuke's side. Head propped on the former evil overlord's chest.

In fact, Ichigo wasn't sure what to call Sousuke now since Sousuke was neither Shinigami nor overlord nor traitorous bastard. Instead, he was _reformed_ and living the quiet life in Seireitei. Meanwhile, the rest of Soul Society tried to adapt to the fact that not only was there going to be no war but that it had ended quietly and without fuss.

Unless one wanted to count the incident with Hinamori Momo. But it was all rather hush-hush at the moment. And not even Ichigo was free to comment.

"Aside from that," Sousuke agreed, and with the hand he had curled around Ichigo, stroked fingers down the Vizard's bare back. "I could get used to this, I suppose. It's not the same as having the universe at my beck and call, but it'll do."

Ichigo growled lowly. A sound that rumbled in his chest as he traced fingers over Sousuke's abdomen.

"So sorry that we lowly mortals are nothing in the face of the ultimate power you _could_ have had but didn't get."

Sousuke blinked. As though taking several moments to decipher the statement that in retrospect, was a tad confusing.

"Gave up," he corrected since he refused to count this as a failure. "I decided that being king wasn't in my best interests after all."

"And your minions were driving you crazy."

Sousuke tilted his head to the side. "That, too," he conceded, and yes, Ichigo was always far more intelligent and insightful than he appeared at first meeting. "Not to mention having you and godhood at the same time might've been a bit of an impossibility, and I'm loathe to lose my greatest prize at this point."

Ichigo's face contorted into a variety of expressions. In one case, he was rather pleased that Sousuke had all but said that Ichigo was his greatest and dearest possession. On the other hand, Sousuke had also called Ichigo a prize of some sort. As though obtaining his affection was somehow the ex-captain's due or that he had won some sort of contest. With Ichigo as the trophy.

Bullshit. Ichigo belonged to no one. Save himself and whoever he deemed worthy of his affections.

And Ichigo had no doubt just whom Sousuke thought himself to have outsmarted. The battle of wits between Sousuke and Urahara Kisuke were no secret to Ichigo. In fact, he could still clearly recall the look on his master's face when Ichigo had revealed just whom his secret lover was. Not that Ichigo had been given a choice in the matter. It wasn't his fault Urahara-san never learned to _knock_ before entering. Or that Sousuke had made a special trip to the living world to spend time with him on the same exact day that Urahara-san planned to stop by for a training session.

Ichigo, still stuck between being offended and pleased, finally settled for something in between. Irritation.

"And just who is your possession?" he demanded, sitting up and fixing his lover with a firm glare that killed lesser men at first glance. "I'm not some prize. Not something to be won!"

"I didn't say you were," Sousuke appeased, using the same tone of voice a parent would use on a misbehaving child or an owner would use on a frightened pet.

He reached for Ichigo. Likely intending to smooth the way with some kind of embrace or kiss that would turn Ichigo into a puddle of mush and make him harder than a rock in less than three seconds. Consequently making him forget about whatever had made him angry or annoyed in the first place.

It was a tactic Sousuke had used several times in the past. Most notably not long after they'd met and Ichigo was still sore about the whole shoving an arm through Rukia and trying to kill her business. And then, there was the time Sousuke had engaged Urahara-san in a juvenile battle of one-up-manship and in the process revealing all manner of personal things that Ichigo had never wanted his master to know.

_Ever. _

Revealing that not only did Ichigo give great blow jobs. But also that he enjoyed doing so was _not_ something that the Vizard wanted all of the Urahara Shouten to know.

Ichigo shifted back to avoid the reaching arm but forgot about the one already curled around his back. It suddenly became a clamp of iron that kept him pinned against Sousuke's chest. And Ichigo spat and hissed like a trapped snake, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

"Let me go."

"No," Sousuke responded in return, stubborn and soft-voiced, eyes a beautiful dark brown without those glasses to hide behind. He reached out, second hand cupping Ichigo's chin and forcing his lover to look at him. "I rather like you where you are."

"Of course you do, bastard," Ichigo growled with another token wriggle against the arm across his back, refusing to admit that he was being swayed by the husky note Sousuke's voice had taken. "Since I'm just a prize and not anyone important."

Sousuke sighed, the sort of resigned sound a person gave when they thought someone was being difficult for no reason at all. It was a sigh that tolerated, half-filled with amusement, but didn't exactly invoke feelings of affection.

"A prize is not necessarily a bad thing since people generally are competing to obtain it," Sousuke said gently, his finger-stroking rather nice and relaxing even as Ichigo fought to not lean into the familiar touch. "And you know good and well what I meant."

Ichigo sniffed. "Hard to say. What with you sulking about the fact you're not king every chance you get."

His resolve to be pissed cracked and faltered. Crumbling in the wake of Sousuke's palm stroking down his back and the fingers gently teasing at the nape of his neck. An amused smile pulled at Sousuke's lips, a grin that Ichigo couldn't deny made his insides flip-flop with desire.

"I do not sulk," Sousuke denied with a haughty lift of his chin.

"You do so. Just like a little girl," Ichigo retorted, though it lacked heat and sounded more like a tease.

"Now who's the one acting like a child?" Sousuke murmured.

And his hand skated down Ichigo's back. His finger stroked Ichigo's skin as his tongue dragged slowly over a pair of lips. Ichigo leaned forward, closing the space between them. An action the iron bar across his back seemed willing to allow.

"Certainly not me," Ichigo returned and closed his mouth over another, tongue eagerly slipping inside to savor the interesting mix of some dark-sweet spice and black tea.

Their tongues tangled, engaging in a brief battle that Ichigo was always quick to lose. Damn Sousuke and his greater experience! Not that Ichigo minded too terribly. Not when Sousuke could do _that_ with his tongue and made desire shoot from Ichigo's head to much lower regions.

Ichigo pressed his body against Sousuke's and felt a stirring against his hip, where an arousal slowly came to life. A hand was stroking down his back, encouraging Ichigo's own desire. Another hand cupped his face. The touch firm but soothing, helping to guide and deepen the kiss.

A moan rumbling in his throat, Ichigo ground down. Rolling his hips against Sousuke's groin in a delightful stirring of friction. He nipped at a pair of lips, feeling his own breathing quicken. Sousuke groaned, and his hand skated over Ichigo's backside, finger tracing the crease and dipping down.

Then, the door to their bedroom suddenly rattled. Someone stood on the other side, banging with all their might. As though the fate of the world depended on reaching them in time.

Ichigo startled and accidentally bit down, teeth clamping on Sousuke's bottom lip and drawing blood. The brunet hissed, jerked back and hit his head on the floor. Causing another curse as Ichigo rolled over and glared at the door as if burning lasers could shoot through his eyes and impale the soon-to-be dead man on the other side.

"This had better be important," Sousuke growled as he sat up, gingerly touching his mouth where impressions of Ichigo's teeth remained.

There was a moment of tense silence where Ichigo grabbed a robe and tossed it over his shoulders before throwing one his lover's direction, too.

"I've a message from Yamamoto-soutaichou," a nervous, shaking voice answered timidly. "He said it was urgent and I wasn't to leave until I received a response."

Ichigo and Sousuke exchanged a glance.

"Concerning what?" the younger man demanded, throwing himself to his feet and wincing when his erection took longer than was comfortable to fade.

"Aizen Sousuke's possible return to captaincy."

Ichigo blinked. Sousuke blinked. Even Sousuke must have thought it a foolish move for the captain-commander to make. Were they that damn desperate?

Sousuke gestured. "Go ahead and open the door, Ichigo."

They were decent. Mostly. The room probably smelled like sex and the rumpled bed gave clear indication of their prior activities. But that was okay. It wouldn't be the first time someone had gotten an eyeful. And knowing their luck, it wouldn't be the last either

The door opened to admit a messenger who kept his eyes averted as he shifted nervously in the doorway. He thrust a pile of papers in Ichigo's direction and Ichigo took them, glancing briefly at the captain-commander's seal.

"Seems official," he said and tossed the scroll of papers in his lover's direction.

Ichigo watched as the documents were unrolled, briefly scanned, and then abruptly dropped as Sousuke burst into laughter. Not just an amused chuckling like he often let free but full on laughter. Enough that he curled an arm around his stomach and shook with amusement.

"What's it say?" Ichigo demanded and could only gape as his older, more mature and refine lover all but rolled over the floor laughing. "Sousuke!"

Clearing his throat, the brunet shook his head and gestured to the paperwork. "The soutaichou sincerely requests that I retake my position as head of the fifth division. And as soon as possible." He paused to get a hold of himself, idly wiping a tear from his eye. "Apparently, I'm far better than the alternative."

This sent him into chuckles once more. And Ichigo, annoyed and insanely curious, crouched to look at the documents himself. At that point, his eyebrows started to crawl into his hairline as embarrassment fought with indignation fought with amusement.

The alternative was Kurosaki Isshin, formerly known as Kyouraku Isshin.

Ichigo, for his part, broke into laughter as well. How sad was that? Soul Society would rather take back a former traitor than allow Goat-Face back in command of one of their divisions? Ichigo couldn't be sure if he should be offended by this or utterly vindicated.

"Are you going to take it?" Ichigo asked once the mirth died down. He noticed that the messenger continued to shift in the doorway, refusing to leave until he had an answer.

Sousuke tapped his chin with a finger. "How can I resist such an impassioned plea?" He gave a rakish grin. "Besides, I don't think Soul Society could handle another Kurosaki."

Ichigo growled in mock-annoyance and tackled his lover to the floor, partially intent on finishing what had been started and interrupted. The messenger vanished seconds later, seemingly content with the answer he'd overheard. And Sousuke's tongue was doing wicked things in Ichigo's mouth, things that made him extremely glad his boyfriend had decided to give up the whole evil overlord and self-destructive bid for god business.

After all, Ichigo wasn't really into evil. Aizen Sousuke, on the other hand, Ichigo found he liked very much.

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a/n: So the next update may be a while in coming. Not only does NaNoWriMo start tomorrow but my own computer (my brand new computer) has kicked the bucket inexplicably. I'm still in the process of trying to figure out what's wrong and get it fixed but that tends to cost money and I am broke. All my files were on it as well (thank goodness for betas who keep copies of everything you've sent them) so I won't be able to work on anything I had in progress.

I hope you enjoyed this one, however, and will come back as soon as I can. Feedback and concrit are always welcome.


	172. Fight Like a Girl

a/n: Great news! My computer is fixed! All I'm waiting for now is my data to be recovered and I'll be back in business. Phew. Just a while longer, I promise. In the meantime, enjoy this drabble, it's one of my favorites.

**Title: Fight Like a Girl**

**Characters: Tatsuki, Soifon, hints to Soifon/Yoruichi and Ichigo/Byakuya**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: Slight crack, hints to future girl lovin'**

**Words: 1607**

**Description: Soifon makes a new friend. The world beware.**

**To **_**Darkangel11910**_**, who asked for a Tatsuki/Anyone, and I couldn't resist the crack. **

**

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**Tatsuki was just a bit miffed.

Sure Ichigo probably didn't _mean_ to lose her somewhere in Seireitei, but that wasn't going to stop Tatsuki from kicking his ass later. If she ever found him for that matter.

What was up with this place anyway? Walls just a bit higher than her head were everywhere. Creating a confusing tangle of paths and roads, some of which led into dead ends. There were the occasional massive pits with no bottom blocking the way. And the entire city seemed to vibrate as though it were some huge beehive.

It rattled her senses.

Che. The least Ichigo could have done was give her a map or something. Not that he had intended for them to be separated by any means. He was just a little too eager to see his boyfriend, and Tatsuki found herself falling low on his priority list. Then again, if she had that hot Kuchiki guy waiting for her, she'd probably hurry, too.

No excuse though. Still gonna kick his ass.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you not in uniform?"

The voice – stern, demanding, and just a tad rude – disturbed Tatsuki from her musings. She blinked, looking in front and behind herself but saw no one. Then, remembering she was in Soul Society, Tatsuki looked up to the rooftop of the nearest building.

A petite woman was standing there. Cute face scrunched up in a hideous scowl as she glared sternly down, hands dangling at her sides. Not in a nonthreatening gesture but one that clearly implied she would kick ass if need be.

Heh. Tatsuki liked her already.

"I'm not a Shinigami, and I was invited," Tatsuki shot back with equal amounts aggressiveness.

She knew women like this – men like her, too – and politeness often didn't equate to being let go peacefully. Tatsuki had to show she wasn't intimidated. Besides, as previously stated, she'd been invited. And therefore, she had every right to wander around this damn place completely lost.

The woman snorted and dropped down from her high position, landing without a sound. She was perhaps an inch or so shy of Tatsuki's height, though her attitude more than made up for it. And the white haori clearly identified her as a captain. Hmm. Short. Surly. Female. Captain.

"Ah," Tatsuki said in a moment of recognition. "You must be Soifon-taichou."

The woman's eyebrow twitched. "You know my name, but I don't know who you are," Soifon retorted shortly in a tone that implied Tatsuki better rectify that mistake and immediately. Otherwise, there would be pain and bleeding and Soifon would enjoy it _immensely. _

Tatsuki grinned and thrust out a hand. "Arisawa Tatsuki at your service," she said, wriggling her fingers in order to encourage polite introductions. "A friend of Kurosaki Ichigo's. I'm sure you know who _he_ is."

That caused another twitch of finely shaped eyebrows and a slight flush of … anger perhaps? It was rather cute on Soifon, Tatsuki thought. A captain with a glare but still blushing like a schoolgirl.

Grey eyes flicked to Tatsuki's hand before Soifon offered one in return, clearly a great concession on the captain's part. The teenager just grinned as they shook, pleased by the firm, almost-testing grip. This woman was no pushover.

"And why is a friend of Kurosaki's here?" Soifon asked stiffly, as though barely holding back a note of disdain.

Ichigo clearly wasn't her favorite of people. Honestly, he had that effect on people. Either you loved him or you hated his guts and eventually came around to loving him anyway. It was some kind of scowling, annoying bastard charm or something.

Tatsuki gave a quick squeeze to the hand still in her possession before releasing. "Just visiting. Curious, ya know. Wanted to match some faces to names."

The glare seemed never far from Soifon's expression, and it deepened as she looked Tatsuki over once again. As though weighing and measuring the human visitor that dared step foot in Seireitei.

"Shinigami don't have time to play with tourists," Soifon all but spat, nose turned towards the air. "You should leave before you get hurt."

Tatsuki's grin widened, if that were possible, growing more and more cocky. She suddenly wanted to slap some of that arrogance out of this woman. Just to see if she could. In fact, her fingers were itching a little to do so.

"Hurt? I doubt that." She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, stretched, and flexed muscles as anticipation grew inside of her. "But you know, if you're that bothered about me being here, you could just point me in Ichigo's direction, and I'll be on my way. Honestly, that guy's a jerk for forgetting I was trying to follow him. But then, my other guide wasn't much better since she just up and vanished when my back was turned."

Soifon stilled. "She?" the captain repeated slowly, voice growing cold as though warning Tatsuki she was walking through a minefield.

Shrugging again, Tatsuki tried to recall the cat-lady's name. But for some reason, it escaped her. Probably because Ichigo had shoved so many names and faces into her head before letting her come with him.

"_If you get lost just ask for me," _he'd said. _"Or Ukitake-san. Or Kuchiki Byakuya. Or his sister Rukia for that matter. Or that drunk guy… whatever his name is. Someone'll point you in the right direction." _He'd paused and then reconsidered with a scowl. _"On second thought, don't bother with the drunk guy. He might try to feel you up or something." _

"Yeah, that cat-lady. Damned if I can remember her name," Tatsuki commented, thumbing her chin as she folded one arm across her chest, balancing her other elbow over it. "The one with gold eyes. You know her?"

Soifon was turning an interesting shade of scarlet at this point. Though Tatsuki would be damned if she understood why. The teenager hadn't insulted her or anything. Yet.

"How dare you slight Yoruichi-sama?" Soifon all but hissed, body vibrating with rage.

Tatsuki's eyebrows attempted to crawl into her hairline. Frankly, she couldn't remember insulting anyone by the name of Yoruichi though that was quite possibly cat-lady's name. Further, she couldn't fathom why possibly insulting her would piss Soifon off so greatly.

She opened her mouth to retort, possibly apologize, possibly ask "what the hell?" But apparently her one offhand comment was enough to send Soifon from _vaguely annoyed_ to _pissed beyond reason_. There was a surge of reaitsu, a flash, and then, Soifon was attacking.

It was easy enough from there for Tatsuki to shift into a defense position. And without really thinking, she blocked the high-handed blow. Soifon hit hard and heavy despite her size. The force of the blow radiated up Tatsuki's arm, but she held her ground and barely flinched.

Soifon blinked at her in slack-jawed surprise. As though the possibility of a mere human blocking her attack was beyond her comprehension.

"You…"

"Black belt in karate," Tatsuki explained with a wide grin. "And one of the few people who can kick Ichigo's ass."

Soifon looked suitably impressed. Anger had been forgotten in the wake of her surprise.

"You seem skilled," she conceded as though it had taken great effort on her part. "It would be interesting to test myself against you."

"You mean a spar?" Tatsuki asked and couldn't keep the eagerness out of her voice. Soifon, for all her scowling and random sudden bitch fits, seemed like an interesting opponent and person – ahem, Shinigami – to boot.

The captain applied more pressure against Tatsuki's forearm, to which the teen returned with equal strength as though testing Soifon's mettle. A grin, partially manic and partially thrilled, curled Soifon's lips.

"Yes, a spar," the woman agreed, and her reaitsu rose just a bit, vibrating around her small form. "Unless, of course, a human from the living world doesn't think herself on par with a captain-class Shinigami."

Luckily for Soifon, Tatsuki wasn't easily offended.

She grinned. "Why not?" Tatsuki said with a shrug. "Not like I have anything better to do."

Since she'd originally been lost, and the whole point of coming to Seireitei was to explore and kill some time during her summer vacation. Besides, she was starting to like this Soifon. Who despite her less than friendly personality was an interesting bag of tricks.

Tatsuki had all kinds of interest in seeing what other expressions she might be able to coax free. More surprise. Determination. _Defeat_ perhaps. And the fact that Soifon was easy on the eyes – and rather built beneath all that fabric Tatsuki could hazard a guess – was definitely a plus.

Soifon's right eye twitched. And suddenly she was gone, pulling back from her initial attack and putting a more respectful space between them.

"Very well then," she said with a light staining of red in her cheeks. As if she had been sensing Tatsuki's very thoughts. "Follow me, human."

"Oh, you can call me Tatsuki," the teen replied cheerfully, shoving her hands in her pockets as she moved to follow. They were probably close to the captain's division after all. "I wouldn't mind at all."

Soifon made a noise that could pass for a snort but inclined her head anyway. "If you insist… Tatsuki."

It clearly took great efforts for her to make that concession, and Tatsuki found herself pleased indeed. This could prove to be quite interesting.

Maybe she wouldn't kick Ichigo's ass after all.

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a/n: Thanks to this - and a piece of flash fiction I wrote - I'm beginning to think TatSoi is going to be my Bleach yuri OTP. Oh yes. Look for more of them in the future.


	173. I Claim This Land

**Title: I Claim This Land**

**Characters: Shunsui/Matsumoto**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: hetsmut, hetkisses, some OOC**

**Words: 1141**

**Description: Rangiku had staked this land for her own. And now was the time to claim it.**

**For **_**ravensrising**_**, who requested this pairing. **

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**He was intoxicating spread out for her like this.

Absolutely nude, brown hair in waves behind his head, free from the overly expensive though cheap looking hair tie. Tanned skin in sharp contrast to the sharp wine color of her sheets as he looked at her with lust-drunk eyes. A rakish grin curving his lips as though he believed himself to be in charge when the both of them knew good and well Rangiku was the one calling the shots.

After all, Kyouraku Shunsui's reputation for being a ladies' man was reputation in name only. In truth, he'd only truly cared for one woman in his entire life, and she was centuries gone before he could ever even admit the truth.

Rangiku, however, thought it was long past time he stopped pining for an unrequited love and started living in the present. For the future. A future, by the way, that happened to include Rangiku, sake, and lots and lots of sex.

She straddled his thighs. Her palms were flat against his rippled abdomen, fingernails scratching at his skin. A smile curved her lips as lust settled heavily in her belly, coiling with a lazy heat.

She too was nude, and she knew that Shunsui appreciated the view by the way his eyes couldn't stop watching the bob of her breasts. His hands lay placidly at his sides, but his fingers twitched against the sheets, as though he held himself back from touching. After all, Rangiku was in charge here, and he had allowed her that control.

"I hardly know where to start," Rangiku purred and slid her palms upward, thumbs tracing briefly over a happy trail of hair before sliding over his belly button – how cute! An outie! – and continuing upward. "With such a feast before me."

"One could easily turn the words onto the beauty gracing me with her presence," Shunsui commented in return, voice thick with desire and genuine appreciation of the female form.

Rangiku chuckled, sliding over hot, smooth skin until she brushed the heels of her hands over his nipples. "No need to seduce me, Kyouraku-san, since I've already been perfectly seduced. Or was it the other way around?" She cocked her head to the side, waiting for his answer, as her fingers toyed with his nipples.

"I'm not sure what the proper answer to that should be," Shunsui replied with a hitch to his breathing. "Except to say that I would much prefer if you call me by my given name in light of the situation."

Rangiku licked her lips. Shifting forward a few inches to rock against his rising arousal. Feeling him shudder beneath her.

"Shunsui." The name rolled off her tongue in a manner that made her shiver. She loved the sound of him on her lips. "Do you have any clue what I'm about to do with you?"

"I have some idea," he returned tightly, hunger making his eyes nearly black. His body tensed as though desperate to move but bowing to her request to remain in charge. "But I'll make no presumptions."

Laughing again, Rangiku leaned forward. Her nipples brushed against his hair-covered chest as she hovered, mouth inches from his.

"I might be convinced to take requests," she purred, licking her lips and letting the back of her tongue ghost over his in a teasing touch.

Shunsui couldn't hide the groan of disappointment and need that rattled in his throat. "A kiss would do much to relieve me at this point," he said, voice ragged as his arousal did a happy dance of interest against her thigh.

Rangiku took pity of him and closed the short distance between them, sealing her mouth over another. He tasted of sake and smelled like herbs. Something fresh and earthy, absolutely delicious. Rangiku could barely hold back her own reaction as his tongue tangled with hers with talent that she'd only ever dreamed about.

Her hips took on a rhythm of their own. Grinding down against his stiff length as she ached for something more, something deeper. It was like all her fantasies come to life as Shunsui forgot about his promise to keep his hands to himself and settled his firm grip on her hips. His fingers traced the curve of her skin before sliding upwards. Cupping her ribs briefly and then splaying across her back. He breathed heavily in and out, as though touching her was like a drink in the desert to a dying man.

Rangiku wanted him. Had _always _wanted him. But let rationality and propriety hold her back. One of the few times she'd held herself back from anything. She'd argued that it wouldn't be right, wouldn't be proper. Shunsui was still grieving, and how dare she disrespect that?

Until she noticed things. Like how heartfelt his flirting was. But never actually hopeful, never actually wanting for anything. How he was so very lonely, despite having Ukitake-taichou at his side and numerous women swooning in his wake. How it was obvious that his eyes looked around for a face that was no longer present, regretting a love never spoken.

After noticing, Rangiku couldn't sit on the sidelines any longer. She couldn't be like all the others who watched and enjoyed his flirtations but left him in his own little world. For once, Rangiku would be the one chasing and thoroughly enjoy the fruits of her labor.

Like right now, as Shunsui groaned beneath her, grip like something desperate as he moved, hungry and wanting. Rangiku was no better. Wet between the legs and wanting him to slide inside of her, filling her in all the right places. She wanted to drag her nails down his chest and run her tongue over his prominent throat.

Rangiku kissed him hungrily, unwilling to part her lips. Her fingers pressed against his skin as he urged her closer with his hands. His hips gave a rolling motion beneath hers, reaitsu pulsing around his body in thick waves that tangled with coils of her own.

He wanted her, too.

Rangiku relished in that fact. Even as she traced the insides of Shunsui's mouth with her tongue and bathed in the sensation of his passion. His beard scratching against her chin and his hair silky-soft as the fingers of one hand threaded through it.

She was going to rock his world and wrap him in her arms until all his regret and sorrow melted away. Rangiku was going to make him hers in a way all the woman of Seireitei wished they could do but never had the courage to try.

Rangiku had staked this land for her own. And now was the time to claim it.

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a/n: See? I'm still eking out these requests. They're just taking a bit longer than usual. I hope you enjoyed this one. I had lots of fun writing it.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thanks again for reading!


	174. Slow Dance

**Title: Slow Dance**

**Characters: Ukitake/Rukia**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Het smexin', fluff**

**Words: 1,392**

**Description: Sequel to **_**May and December**_**, part of the _Never Been Kissed _series. By the gods, she makes him young again. **

**Dedication: For **_**Rockstar1093**_**, who requested this pairing. **

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**Jyuushiro can't remember being so nervous in his entire existence. Not in all the centuries he's lived and served as a Shinigami.

Sure, there have been other women. Other relationships. Other liaisons. But none have meant as much to him as the one he shares with Rukia. None of them have been half as important. And none of them had brothers with the ability to not only make Jyuushiro completely penniless but also rip out his testicles and force feed them to him. Not that Byakuya-kun has made such a threat. It's simply been implied by the steely glance in those Kuchiki grey eyes. A wordless statement that says all he never will.

That Kuchiki Byakuya loves his only sister and that Jyuushiro better think long and hard about what he's doing.

Only, he's not really sure what he's doing anymore. Not the relationship part. Never that. More the physical realities of what that entails.

All of that explains why he's so nervous. Jyuushiro wonders if it's truly possible for someone forget these things after abstaining for so long. He wonders if he'll manage to meet her expectations. He wonders why he's as eager and hungry as a young man.

By the gods, she makes him so young again.

They've had dinner. They've been to the theater. They've walked through a park in the midst of a warm spring evening. Admiring the flowers, holding hands, listening to the wind breathe through the trees.

And now, they are here. In Jyuushiro's home. In Jyuushiro's bedroom. Standing at the foot of his futon and looking at each other expectantly. Rukia's eyes are somehow both bright and dark. Eager and just as nervous as Jyuushiro's own.

She blushes ever so lightly when he cups her neck, strokes her throat with his thumb, and leans in to kiss her. She tastes sweet. Like caramel and cream. Her mouth is warm and wet, and her reiatsu is a kiss of winter against his summer storm.

His hands fumble at her obi, peeling back the layers of her yukata. She looks beautiful in it. The same yukata she wore on their first date, one that Ishida-san embellished for her. But Jyuushiro is sure that she is beautiful beneath as well. And he confirms this as he peels back the dark fabric and reveals the pale, smooth cast of her skin.

She moans when he cups her breasts, caressing her firming nipples and stroking fingers over the silky-softness of her skin. Her head tips back, revealing the elegant length of her throat. Jyuushiro tastes her because how can he not? Her throat is warm against his lips, skin carrying a gentle fragrance of some flowery soap.

Her hands reach for his clothes then, and Jyuushiro is quick to help her disrobe him. His skin is paler than hers, the pallor of the sick, but judging by the look in her eyes, she doesn't see the same man who Jyuushiro sometimes glimpses in the mirror. There's heat and hunger in her gaze that grow when her palms flatten against his chest and her fingers splay across muscle.

Jyuushiro's breathing quickens. He arches into her touch, own hands roaming. Tracing the curve of her shoulders. The swell of her breasts. The slim lines of her hips. Hands moving slowly, gently. Dipping lower. Teasing briefly at the dewy wetness between her thighs.

Rukia gasps, a breathy moan, and Jyuushiro's belly tightens. He is as aroused as a boy first discovering women. Wanting, wanting, wanting. So much that he wonders how he can even stand, how he can hold back.

Ironically, she's the one who steps back first. Who pulls him toward the futon and on top of the mattress. Flushed bodies meet cool sheets, and Jyuushiro nearly purrs at the contrasting sensation. Rukia's hands tangle in his hair, fingers curling around long white strands. She pulls him down for a hot kiss where tongues tangle and their breath mingles together. She tastes so sweet, and Jyuushiro's intoxicated. His hands run over and over her hips and sides when she cradles his hips with her knees as if goading him on. Urging him.

Jyuushiro loses himself as he kisses her. Sucking on her tongue. Tracing his over the curve of her lips. Nibbling on her jaw line. Tasting her throat. Desire coils tighter and tighter within him with each sound she makes. Each whimper and mew. Each desperate press of her fingers to draw him closer.

He's had visions and fantasies of things being perfect. Slow and sensual, gentle and smooth like it should be. But that's not what Jyuushiro's body wants, not what it's begging for. And not, it seems, what Rukia desires either.

Her eyes are blue, big and bright. Her motions hungry and all but begging. She's tired of waiting; she just wants. Wants in the same manner as Jyuushiro.

Too many years of unrequited feelings. Too many years of holding back for the sake of… for what, really? What and why? Age? Circumstance? The sorrow that still sits shared between them like a wet blanket?

Jyuushiro doesn't know. He doesn't want to ask. In fact, it's the furthest thing from his mind as he buries his face in her throat and nudges between her thighs. As he pushes inside of her. As she moans, low and long. As fingers dig into his shoulders. As knees urge him deeper.

He thinks romantic thoughts. Slow and steady. Kissing her all over. Whispering sweet nothings. Jyuushiro thinks of worshipping her skin with his hands, thinks of teasing her for hours with gentle kisses and touches. He thinks of doing all kinds of things that in no way resemble what he is actually doing.

He slides into her, feels Rukia rhythmically pulsing around him. Her thighs clasp around his waist, the heels of her feet setting an urgent pace. Her fingers lock around his upper arms, squeezing, encouraging. She's making these noises in her throat. Needy and hungry. Demanding with her eyes and her lips that Jyuushiro get with the programming and stop trying to be picture perfect.

Whatever anxiety Rukia may have suffered is long gone now, vanished in the blink of an eye. Leaving behind this beautiful, sexy, _alive _creature who seems to hunger for Jyuushiro and Jyuushiro alone. The thought itself is intoxicating, is enough to make him rumble in his chest. It's enough to make him thrust a little harder, bury himself inside her wet heat and listen to her moan and watch her writhe for him.

He wants to hold onto this moment forever because it's supposed to be poignant and romantic and important. But all Jyuushiro can think is _finally_ and _delicious_ and _more, more, more_. Rukia seems to echo the sentiment if her wordless noises and bruising fingers are any indication.

And Jyuushiro is never more pleased with himself than when Rukia peaks first. Clenching around him. Body twitching and moving sinuously. She makes happy cries in her throat, breathes his name. Blue eyes so dark with desire and other emotions that they are nearly black.

All thoughts of making things last, of slow and sensual romantic love as they stare into each other's eyes for hours, fly out the window and are promptly tromped in the dirt. Right now, Jyuushiro wants. And Rukia is so gracious to let him have.

Jyuushiro indulges as he steals her lips for another sweet kiss. Fire rushes through his veins, building first in his belly before bursting through his limbs. He gasps like a land-locked fish as his release washes over him not unlike a tidal wave. And Rukia buries her hands in his hair and jabs her tongue into his mouth.

She murmurs something to him, and Jyuushiro thinks he murmurs something just as stupidly sweet and romantic in return.

He falls asleep wrapped in her arms rather than the other way around, but Jyuushiro finds he doesn't mind that at all. And when he wakes up in the morning to a dull grey, stormy morning and a slight chill in the air, he really doesn't mind at all. Rukia's wrapped all around him like she has twice as many limbs as the obvious person. Her hair is a mess. And drool paints Jyuushiro's shoulder.

It's adorable. It's sexy. It's all that Jyuushiro could have wished for. And more.

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a/n: I have to say... I'm rather proud of this one. It has a certain lyrical flow to it that I like. I hope you enjoyed it as well!


	175. Then Comes the Carriage

a/n: This is part of my series, Two to Tango, and the sequel to Blissfully Everafter.

**Title: Then Comes the Carriage**

**Characters: Ichigo/Ukitake, Shunsui, OC, hinted Ura/Yoru/Shun**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: fluff, some OOC**

**Words: 2327**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Blissfully Everafter**_**. Jyuushiro's been sulking, and Ichigo will be damned if he knows why. **

**Dedication: For **_**Taka**_**, who wanted this pairing.**

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**Contrary to popular belief, life after marriage was not all roses and happy times. There were also arguments, nights spent sleeping on the couch, and days spent baffled at the inexplicable actions of his partner. Or so Ichigo had come to learn. Not that it meant he wanted to end this marriage anytime soon or that he no longer loved Jyuushiro. Just that sometimes, marriage took work.

Like now for instance.

Jyuushiro sighed. He stared moodily into the distance. He fiddled with his brush and ink but didn't write anything down. He planted his chin on the heel of his palm and sighed again. His shoulders slumped.

Something was wrong with him, but Ichigo was damned if he could figure out what and why. He'd asked, of course, but Jyuushiro had claimed it to be nothing. Smiling in his gentle and loving way, pulling him in for a warm kiss that chased away questions and sighs. But only briefly because that forlorn look later returned.

At first, Ichigo chalked it up to separation anxiety. They'd both been thrilled when Shunsui stopped living underfoot and in their hair. But Jyuushiro and Shunsui were also very close friends and had been for centuries. Perhaps his husband missed Shunsui being so near to him at all times. Sure, that was a little weird, but Ichigo could live with that it if it made his partner happy. In fact, he kinda wished he had a friend he was close to like that. Closer than family.

But then, he realized that Shunsui visited far too often for that to be case. Along with the sheer volume of mail that they exchanged and the fact that Shunsui called every day at seven in the evening on the dot. Ichigo simply couldn't believe they were given the chance to miss each other, much less suffer from separation anxiety. And were he any other man, he might be jealous. But as it were, he understood that's just how Jyuushiro and Shunsui were, and it didn't bother him one bit.

Jyuushiro's sudden and worrisome unhappiness, however, bothered Ichigo quite a lot. And since his husband refused to elaborate on what was making him sigh like that, Ichigo had to go to another source. Though with much, much reluctance.

"Ichigo!"

Seconds after he walked in the door, Ichigo was pulled into an embrace that smelled of sake and an herb garden. Practically swallowed by the volumes of a cheap, pink haori.

"Good to see you, too," Ichigo said once he was able to breathe again. "Is Urahara-san around?" he added, glancing about warily.

Urahara still wasn't overly impressed with Ichigo's escape tactics concerning Shunsui's constant presence even two years later. His master could carry a grudge like no one Ichigo had ever met and still sniffed sulkily in his presence. Though there were rumors of an interesting relationship between the residents of the Urahara shouten.

"Nope. Ki-kun's out on the shop's business," Shunsui replied cheerily and stepped back, looking Ichigo over as though he were the prodigal son come home. "And how is Jyuu-chan?"

Despite the fact that they had probably just spoken three hours before and Shunsui likely knew even better than Ichigo did.

Ichigo sighed and let the worry show through on his face. "Something's making him unhappy, and he won't tell me what it is."

Seriousness instantly made an appearance on Shunsui's face. He dropped an arm over Ichigo's shoulder, guiding him into the sitting room.

"I think I have an idea," the older man said and all but pushed Ichigo down into a seat.

This was precisely the reason Ichigo had come. He sat and waited as Shunsui bustled out of the room to get tea and snacks because apparently they couldn't talk seriously without either. And in his absence, Ichigo took the opportunity to snoop with his eyes, wondering if the rumors had basis in fact. Not that it would bother him if it were true, but it would be nice to know. He'd hate to accidentally insult someone.

The sitting room revealed nothing. It was neat and clean, almost scarily so. Which had to be Tessai's doing since he couldn't see Urahara-san, Yoruichi-san or Shunsui cleaning up after themselves.

"So! Jyuu-chan's been hiding something, eh?" Shunsui asked, bustling back into view with a plate of steaming tea and lacy-looking cookies. "And he won't let you know either."

"He tells you everything. So I figure you can tell me." Ichigo was unable to conceal his worry.

Shunsui chuckled and sat down. "It's really a simple problem, and I think the only reason Jyuu-chan hasn't told you is because he's embarrassed."

Nibbling on one of the delicate cookies, Ichigo raised a brow. "What could be so embarrassing that he can't tell me? It's not like I don't know everything else."

"Even someone like Jyuu-chan has his pride," Shunsui informed him and sipped at his tea, smacking his lips with satisfaction. "But the truth of the matter is… dear Jyuu-chan's clock's a ticking, and he doesn't quite know how to bring it up."

Ichigo's forehead wrinkled as he tried to interpret just what he meant. Clock ticking? What the hell kind of drunken nonsense was Shunsui talking about?

Clock. Ticking. Ticking clock.

Understanding dawned.

Ticking clock. As in biological clock. As in Jyuushiro was ready to have a kid, and neither he nor Ichigo were female. Thereby creating a bit of an issue. Ichigo and Jyuushiro had already discussed children and agreed that they'd look forward to having some in the future.

Apparently, that future was now. Which made sense, all things considered. Ichigo had finished his schooling and made his mostly-permanent home in Soul Society with frequent trips to the living world. He was firmly entrenched in his role as captain of the fifth division, and both he and Jyuushiro had settled quite nicely into their quiet life as husband and husband.

Children seemed the next logical step.

"Huh," Ichigo said and crunched on a cookie. "Kids, huh?"

"Kids," Shunsui confirmed and reached for a treat of his own. "That's the gist of it. Seems pretty silly, doesn't it?"

"Just a bit," Ichigo agreed but was glad Shunsui had told him. Glad he now had something to chew on, to consider.

Children. Was it really that simple?

o0o0o

Ichigo pondered on the matter for several days. It was obviously something that Jyuushiro desired greatly, and Ichigo had to admit that he wouldn't mind having a little boy or girl of his own either. He certainly hoped to be a better father than Goat-Face at any rate.

Logically, without the ability to have children of their own, adoption was the next step. Ichigo knew there were a few orphanages spread out here and there in Rukongai. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it would be like shopping for a kid. And besides, how could he pick – for lack of a better word – without Jyuushiro's input?

Still, all things considered, Ichigo supposed it wouldn't hurt to at least visit. Get some idea of what he and Jyuushiro should expect, what paperwork they might need –if any – and possible monetary expenses.

The roar of a Hollow and subsequent screams of panicked citizens, however, derailed initial plans. And his curious walk through Rukongai turned into a need to draw Zangetsu and leap to the nearest rooftop. A Hollow, something with teeth and claws and obvious hunger, was prowling around nearby and obviously seeking a target with tasty reaitsu. No other Shinigami had noticed yet, and Ichigo wasn't the sort to walk away because it wasn't technically his assignment.

He leapt into action, knowing it wouldn't take but a moment of his time. The Hollow was a weak thing. Something Ichigo easily purified with a well-placed kidoh and a quick swipe of Zangetsu. As the thing dissolved away, Ichigo turned to reassure the nearest victim. Who turned out to be a child. It was always hard to tell age in Soul Society. But she was such a little thing. Looked like she was barely old enough for elementary school with her big dark eyes and shaggy black hair. A certain set to her chin that reminded him strongly of Karin.

Ichigo crouched, coming face to face with the little girl. "Hello," he said as pleasantly as he could manage and without his trademark scowl. "I'm Ichigo. What's your name?"

Her eyes flickered from his sword to his face and beyond him to where the Hollow had vanished. Her clothes were ragged and filthy, and there was a certain angle to her cheeks that implied she hadn't eaten in quite some time. Which in Rukongai meant that there was a reason she needed to eat. A reason that buzzed softly on the edge of Ichigo's senses.

"What's your name?" he repeated after she'd had a chance to study him.

"Fuyumi."

"Fuyumi, huh? That's a pretty name." Ichigo smiled gently and was relieved when she gave him a shy one in return. "Do you have somewhere safe I can take you? It's dangerous to stick around here."

She shook her head, black hair giving off a small cloud of dust. "No. I… It's just me."

Ichigo rose to his feet, looking pointedly around. "That's not good. It's really not safe here."

Not in this part of Rukongai. Not at all.

Ichigo wasn't about to leave her here. That would be like saving her from one danger only to throw her into a different one. Ichigo couldn't do that.

The idea hit him then, and he wondered it hadn't occurred to him from the moment he laid his eyes on Fuyumi. Coincidence or fate, he couldn't let this opportunity slide.

Ichigo smiled, softer this time, and offered his hand. "Would you like to come with me then?" he offered. "I can take you some place safe. Give you a soft bed. A warm bath. Food."

Her eyes practically sparkled at the idea of the last. "Candy?"

Ichigo laughed. "If you want," he said and was warmed when her small hand slid into his, fingers locking with his own.

o0o0o

When Jyuushiro came home that night, it was to the startling sight of Ichigo and a young girl playing some type of game in the main room. Jyuushiro stared. Blinked. Stared as his husband looked up at him with a beaming grin and the girl won the game with a happy cheer.

"Welcome home," Ichigo said, rising to his feet and meeting Jyuushiro with a peck on the cheek. "Have a long day?"

A strangled sound echoed in the older man's throat. "Ichigo," he murmured, eyes flicking from the young lady to his husband. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Of course." Ichigo stepped back and stood behind the dark-haired child, placing his hands on her small shoulders. "Jyuushiro, this is Fuyumi. Fuyumi, this is my husband, Jyuushiro."

"Pleased to meet you," the little one said as she bowed in greeting. "You have pretty hair."

Jyuushiro was instantly charmed. "Likewise," he said, finding her big dark eyes and her flushed cheeks absolutely adorable. "Are you from Rukongai?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. The sixty-fifth district."

Jyuushiro's breath caught in his throat. The sixty-fifth? How had she survived for so long? Such a small and delicate thing?

"I rescued her from a Hollow today," Ichigo commented, and his voice betrayed some of his amusement. "I offered her a bath, a bed, and food. And perhaps more, if we all agree."

Jyuushiro's gaze snapped towards his husband hopefully. An intense feeling of happiness rose up inside of him.

"You mean…?"

Ichigo, one hand remaining on Fuyumi's shoulder, shifted to his husband's side. Curling an arm around Jyuushiro's waist.

"I talked to Shunsui. Why didn't you just tell me you were ready for the next stage in our relationship?"

Despite his greatest efforts, Jyuushiro felt his cheeks heat. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up without sounding like I wasn't happy," he admitted. "But if you're serious…"

"I am," Ichigo confirmed and gently squeezed Fuyumi's shoulder. "That is, if you are."

"Of course I am," Jyuushiro exclaimed, perhaps a bit too quickly. He looked at Fuyumi with hopeful eyes, the little girl glancing between the two men with intelligence and curiosity. "But it's her decision first. What do you say? Would you like to join our family, Fuyumi?"

"Yep!" she chirped without any hesitation on her part, and Jyuushiro felt warmth crashing over him from all directions. "Can we have dinner now? Ichi-tou-san said we had to wait 'til you got home."

"Of course we can," Jyuushiro said with the sudden urge to kiss "Ichi-tou-san" senseless and grope his husband all over, something he couldn't do in front of Fuyumi.

His new daughter cheered and ducked out from under Ichigo's hand, making a beeline for the dining room. Already so comfortable here and at home with herself. How wonderful.

"So?" Ichigo turned towards his husband. "What do you-"

Jyuushiro cut him off with his lips, slanting his mouth over Ichigo's and kissing for all that he was worth. He couldn't imagine himself being any happier.

Ichigo groaned into his mouth, gripping onto Jyuushiro's shihakushou as though contemplating crawling inside and making himself at home. Their bodies pressed together, limbs intertwining, as their tongues dueled sloppily. Heat sparked between them without any effort at all.

"Come on, Ichi-tou-san!" Fuyumi called from the next room, voice causing them to separate hastily and with guilty expressions.

Jyuushiro felt a little disappointed, but Ichigo laughed and squeezed his hand briefly. "Don't look like that. We wanted kids, remember?"

For his part, Jyuushiro could only chuckle, steal another kiss, and slip past Ichigo to head into the dining room.

"I couldn't have asked for a better gift," he called over his shoulder, practically skipping.

He had a new daughter to greet and come to love.

a/n: See? I can write fluff when I put my mind to it. *grins*

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I do hope you enjoyed. There's plenty more ficcage to come. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.


	176. All the Right Reasons

**Title: All the Right Reasons**

**Characters: Stark/Kira, Ichimaru**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: boykisses, slight OOC **

**Words: 2148**

**Description: There was no point in leaving Soul Society if Izuru wasn't going to change. Sequel to **_**The Duality of a Man**_**. **

**Dedication: For **_**Darkness_Immortal**_**, who requested this pairing. **

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**His lips felt as though they were burning and yet cold at the same. Abruptly missing the feel of Stark's mouth and buzzing with sensation. Izuru was no virgin in any sense of the word. He was no stranger to relationships or intimacy with men or woman. He'd been kissed before. He'd been complimented and admired just as much as he'd been insulted and teased. Izuru was no naïve romantic.

But he couldn't deny that long after Stark had kissed him, Izuru could still feel the brush of the Arrancar's mouth against his.

"What's got ya so distracted, Izuru-chan?"

Izuru's cheeks turned pink as he looked up at the man he would always consider his captain. "What makes you think I'm distracted?"

Ichimaru-taichou grinned. He reached out with long fingers to gently brush the tips of them across Izuru's mouth.

"Cause ya were smilin' to yerself just a minute ago. And I was talkin' bout Aizen-taichou's plans which really aren't that interestin'."

His blush only deepened. "It's nothing important," Izuru dismissed before his captain embarrassed him any further. "Does Aizen-sama have any need for me?"

Ichimaru-taichou made a sound that was a cross between a sniff and a snort. He suddenly stopped walking and took Izuru's shoulder with a firm grip.

"Ya can't fool me, Izuru-chan. I know ya best." Pale eyebrows lifted in silent questioning.

Mortification fought with warmth; he was always thrilled when he had his captain's full attention. Izuru's eyes skittered away.

"It's stupid and embarrassing, taichou," Izuru admitted.

And really, that was all Ichimaru-taichou was going to get because no way in hell was Izuru saying aloud that he was probably developing a virulent crush on the Primera Espada.

"Hmm." His captain's fingers didn't relent in their hold as he looked Izuru up and down before a slow smile curled his lips, one that didn't bode well for Izuru's pride. "I think I 'ave an idea," he said with almost scary glee. "Got ta do with Stark-bo, doesn't it?"

When the red in Izuru's cheeks flared impossibly darker and brighter all at once, Ichimaru-taichou cackled as though stumbling upon the best secret in all of Hueco Mundo.

"I knew it," he crowed. "He always did 'ave an eye fer the pretty ones."

"Taichou!"

The older man laughed again. "Now, Izuru, I done told ya 'bout callin' me tha'," he said and gave Izuru a pointed look. "Not that I'm distracted from the original topic or nothin'. I'm guessin' from that blush his fascination is mutual?"

For the life of him, Izuru couldn't figure when his captain had taken it upon himself to become his love guru. "I don't… why do you…"

Izuru forced his shoulders to square. He hated himself for his stutter that was only making Ichimaru-taichou's grin wider and wider.

"Ya should tell 'im," Ichimaru-taichou said, squeezing Izuru's shoulders again. "This isn't Soul Society. But if ya stay the same, it'll be like ya never left."

Izuru's brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what his captain meant by that. Ichimaru-taichou's grin widened as he appeared to glance behind Izuru with a small chuckle.

"And ya know what? Now's an excellent time ta start!" Ichimaru-taichou added with a cheerful clip of his voice before he spun Izuru around and gave him a little push down the hallway. "Go get 'im, tiger."

Izuru spluttered and stumbled, half-turned to question his former captain when Ichimaru-taichou just grinned at him, gestured over Izuru's shoulder and waved goodbye. Sparkles floating around his head in a weird halo.

Izuru turned slowly, already half-suspecting who was standing there in the hallway. And sure enough, there Stark was, hands in his pockets, posture lazy as he approached. Eyes flicking between Izuru and his departing captain. And admittedly, they had been in a rather unique pose that could be mistaken for something else by potentially jealous eyes.

"Stark-san," Izuru said with a small smile, pleased with himself for not stuttering and revealing the fortuity of the circumstances. He couldn't help but wonder if Ichimaru-taichou had somehow planned this.

Stark-san's return smile was equal parts lazy and easygoing. But there was a touch of restraint to his bearing.

"Back to formalities already?" he returned with an arched brow. "Should I be insulted?"

"Sorry. It's a habit," Izuru replied, heart racing as the Espada came nearer. His presence was so much larger than the blond's own, and his strong scent spilled into the space between them, something sharp and lemongrass. "One that's hard to break."

He watched as Stark scratched a finger through his goatee. The emotions behind his gaze completely were unreadable.

"So I see," he commented and made a point to glance past Izuru. "Your boss seemed to be in a good mood. Not that I've seen him in a _bad _mood."

"There's nothing between us, you know," Izuru found himself blurting out, as though desperate to correct a misconception. The tips of his ears burned a little at the urgent note to his voice.

That was pretty telling, wasn't it?

Stark's brows rose. "Is that so?" There was amusement in his voice.

"He's just my captain. Or was." Izuru frowned, forehead wrinkling. Truth be told, he didn't know what to call Ichimaru-taichou anymore. Or how to react to him.

He'd come to Hueco Mundo because remaining in Soul Society was no longer an option. He couldn't take the stares and the accusations, the questioning of his ability. The way they treated him as something weak, someone needing protection, something _broken_ by Ichimaru-taichou's abandonment. Izuru had come to Hueco Mundo because it was better to be the traitor Soul Society expected of him than endure Soul Society's fake pity.

Even if he really didn't have a place here except to follow Ichimaru-taichou around like a trained lapdog. Perhaps it was time he actively sought a way to be useful.

Stark's laughter broke through Izuru's musings.

His eyes narrowed, cutting sharply to the first Espada. "What's so funny?" he demanded because Izuru couldn't remember making a joke.

Stark's smile stretched his mouth. "You," he said and reached out with one hand, finger smoothing the wrinkle in Izuru's forehead. "I can't tell if you're annoyed, anger, or embarrassed. You're quite the contradiction. It's cute."

Oh, like Izuru hadn't heard that before.

"Kittens are cute," he huffed and swatted Stark's hand away. "Small children and clouds shaped like bunnies are cute."

"And so is that indignant look on your face," Stark commented, utterly amused and apparently unconcerned for the fact he was making Izuru very annoyed.

Heat stole into Izuru's cheeks; he couldn't tell if it were embarrassment or anger. Perhaps a mixture of both. His hands formed into fists at his side. It was like being back in Soul Society again, where they thought him cute and weak and pliable. Where his big eyes and pale skin and slim form made everyone think he needed to be protected, that Ichimaru-taichou had more than influenced him. Had obviously damaged him in ways only a man could damage another man, especially a pretty one.

Ah… well, that explained it, didn't it? Stark's attraction wasn't based on a liking for Izuru. He fancied big blue eyes and soft expressions and slim hips and everything that marked Izuru as cute in his mind. Things that made Izuru less of a man.

Those thoughts boiled in his blood.

Izuru sucked in a breath and shot it out again in a great gust. Reiatsu coiled inside of him. Wabisuke whispered in the back of his mind. He drew straight, his eyes flashing in a matter meant to intimidate.

"I think you're laboring under a misconception, Stark-san," Izuru stated, reverting to formalities before he got far too comfortable around this Espada who wasn't as different as he'd hoped.

Confusion flickered briefly in Stark's expression. "And what would that be?"

"I am not what you're looking for." Izuru shook despite his efforts to control himself, Wabisuke thrumming at his side. "I'm not what you think I am."

A slow smile curled Stark's lips, lazy and intrigued. "And what do I think you are?" There was a touch of enjoyment to his voice, but a touch of something else as well. Curiosity maybe.

"Weak. Pliable." Izuru's face twisted into an unattractive sneer. "A _woman_."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Stark drawled, drawing closer until he was almost in the blond's personal space. "I happen to know several women who are tougher than nails and would put most of the men I know to shame."

Izuru worked his jaw. "I'm not a plaything either."

"Who said you were?" Stark responded lowly, eyes burning with an intensity that Izuru hadn't seen before. Usually, the Espada was too laidback, too relaxed to show passion for anything. But now there was a heat in his eyes that made Izuru want to backpedal, made need rise through his body, and quickened his pulse.

It was a heat of desire. For _Izuru_.

"You didn't have to. I've been around long enough to understand," Izuru all but spat, surprised himself by the acidity of his tone.

It felt a little forced. Was that the disappointment talking? Perhaps it was.

He turned, unsure of why he did so. Not to escape or storm away in a huff. He just wanted to end this humiliating conversation, wallow in his own disillusionment. So much for starting over.

Fingers enclosed around his upper arm, halting his retreat. Izuru turned, angry protest on his lips, other hand raised to strike. He _hated_ being manhandled. But instead of seeing amusement in Stark's expression, he saw something else. Something vibrant and hungry and… proud?

Before Izuru could so much as ask a question or pull himself free, Stark spoke.

"Your stubbornness is as infuriating as it is attractive."

And then, Stark abruptly cupped Izuru's face with both hands before his mouth descended. Warm and wet, tasting vaguely of licorice. This time, the kiss was far from gentle and chaste. It was hungry, teeth nibbling on the blond's lips before Stark's tongue slipped inside to tease.

Izuru's hands lifted to Stark's arms. He thought maybe to shove the Espada away, except that wasn't what his body did. Instead, he gripped Stark's arms and returned the kiss with equal veracity. His tongue plunged into the man's mouth, and he sought more of that vaguely anise flavor. And never mind that they were standing in the hallway where anyone could see.

Izuru's hands down to grip Stark's robe, pulling and tugging until he came closer, their bodies nearly aligned. Stark radiated heat. It was something that surprised the blond but shouldn't considering the warmth of the hands on his face.

The Arrancar broke off the kiss with a gasp, eyes bright and alive. "That's what I wanted to see," he panted.

Izuru was confused. And relieved. Both at the same time. And with that relief came a surge of understanding. He thought that maybe he knew where this was going.

"You just wanted to push me?"

Stark shook his head. "No. I wanted to see something no one else has. Something that could belong to me and me alone." He licked his lips again, and Izuru followed the motion with his gaze.

"Why?"

Thumbs stroked Stark's cheek. "I may be lazy, but I'm a possessive bastard, and Ichimaru's far too smug for his own good."

Izuru's lips twitched. But before he could control himself, he chuckled.

"I think I can live with that."

"Good."

Stark smiled, and it was the last thing Izuru saw before Stark kissed him again, lips slow and gentle but tasting him intently.

"You're mine now."

He couldn't fight the shiver that worked its way through his body at Stark's possessive tone. Izuru was simultaneously thrilled and incensed by his gall, but he couldn't find it in him to protest.

"We should take this out of the hall," Izuru suggested.

He licked his lips pointedly. His cheeks burned at being so forward, but he was sick of being inhibited. And judging from the look on Stark's face, he didn't mind Izuru's forward behavior one bit.

Ichimaru-taichou was right. There was no point in leaving Soul Society if Izuru wasn't going to change. Now was the perfect time to start.

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I think Stark's got it right; Izuru is adorable. *grins*

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.


	177. One Way Street

**Title: One Way Street**

**Characters: Ichigo/Grimmjow, Renji/Ichigo (onesided), Urahara**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: masturbation, boykisses, boysmut, voyeurism, angst**

**Words: 1364**

**Description: Part of the **_**Gravitation**_** series. Renji thinks he might be a masochist, or if not, then he's at least a little sick in the head.**

**Dedication: For **_**mandalee1013**_**, who reminded me of the sexiness that is Renji and how much more I need to indulge. **

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* * *

**Renji thinks he might be a masochist. Or if not, then he's at least a little sick in the head. Since this doesn't make any sort of sense. Not at all.

Only a fool would stand here, breath bated, watching from the shadows like some kind of stalker. Only a really twisted person would stand here, hand down his hakama. Watching with a mixture of want and pleasure and hatred and disgust, until it all coils in his belly like a fire and showers him in guilt and shame. Only a supreme idiot of the world would watch the man he's pretty sure he loves in some kind of way, shove his tongue down the throat of a Hollow who should be dead.

Renji hates that it simultaneously turns him on like nothing else and fills him to the core with disgust. He hates that he can't seem to drag his eyes away from Ichigo and flinches every time a piece of Grimmjow interrupts his view. And more than that, Renji hates that his own breathing grows ragged. That he's so hard and aching that he's naturally slicked his fingers to make things easier. That his entire body trembles and he's tasting blood because he's biting down on his lip to keep himself from making a noise that might be noticed.

Swallowing thickly, Renji watches. Eyes avidly tracing each twitch of muscle beneath smooth and scarred tanned skin. The red flush in Ichigo's cheeks. The way he licks his lips and how his eyes darken with lust.

The redhead can just imagine himself there in that fucker Grimmjow's place. Above Ichigo or under him, it doesn't matter to Renji. He wonders how Ichigo tastes and imagines dragging his tongue over every inch of Ichigo's skin. Curling his tongue around the head of Ichigo's arousal and taking him deep. Listening to those sexy grunts and moans and bitten-down whimpers.

Renji sucks air through his nose, swallowing down a groan as his hand works faster over his own length. Hating himself but unwilling to stop. It's sick, and it's wrong, but he watches. Gods above and below, he watches and can't tear his eyes away.

He rubs his thumb over the slick head of his length, feels himself shiver as jagged heat rips through him. Renji sucks on his bottom lip, watching as Ichigo drags his hands down Grimmjow's back and grips his hips, and Renji's imagination easily puts himself in the Arrancar's place. Wondering how it would feel for Ichigo to slide against him, wet and hard, throbbing.

Heart pounding in his chest and the strong taste of copper in his mouth, Renji jerks himself off so hard it almost hurts. Long, tight pulls of his fist. He watches, and he seethes. And when he comes, it's both a relief and a greater suffering. He spills all over his fingers and dampens his hakama, satiation battling with shame.

Renji's eyes close as tremors of pleasure wrack his body. He turns, leaning back against the boulder that has served as his cover. He slides down the length of it, head falling back to lightly hit the rock.

He's such a fucking idiot.

A slow chuckle slides through the quiet. "How naughty, Abarai-kun."

His eyes snap open. And Renji freezes as he catches sight of Urahara-san standing a mere dozen feet away from him, eyes hidden by that damn hat. A smirk twists his lips as one hand toys with the head of his cane – his concealed zanpakutou.

"U-Urahara-san," Renji splutters and struggles to cover himself, doing nothing but streaking his clothes in his semen. "How long have ya been standin' there?"

"Long enough," the blond sing-songs with an evil note in his tone. "My, my, I wander just what Kurosaki-kun would say if you knew what you were up to. I imagine young Grimm-kun wouldn't be too happy either."

Renji feels the color drain from his face, and his breath catches in his throat. "You're here, too!" he says and feels like a kid for arguing so stupidly like this. "So what's that say about ya?"

"But my eyes were for a different show altogether," Urahara-san practically purrs and approaches until he is a mere two feet away. "In thanks for that, I won't be telling Kurosaki-kun anything, but really, Abarai-kun. I never knew you had it in you."

Renji refuses to admit that the heat staining his cheeks is anything close to a blush. "It's none of your business," he snarls. Pushing himself to his feet and pressing his back against the boulder as though it will serve as some protection against such blatant manipulations.

The shopkeeper tilts his head to the side, eyes gleaming from the shadows of his hat. "Maybe it is; maybe it isn't."

Renji bares his teeth, feeling like a cornered, wild animal. The last thing he needs is Urahara-san piling guilt on top of the shame that's already making a nasty nest inside of him. He knows he's some kind of sick bastard; he doesn't need Urahara-san as a witness to his perversion.

"What do ya want?" the vice-captain demands because Urahara-san wouldn't have announced himself just to tease him. He's still sticking around because he wants something, has to be. "Want me ta beg ya not ta tell him?"

It's false bravado. Inside, Renji feels just a bit like puking at the thought of either Ichigo figuring things out or Urahara-san forcing him to do something unsavory. But if there's one thing Renji's always been good at, it's lifting his head and putting on a front of bravery. Even if inside he's quaking and his face is paler than snow.

Urahara-san clucks his tongue, staff rapping sharply against the ground as he just looks at Renji. A stare that's enough to make the redhead's skin prickle and remind him that his clothes are rumpled, his fingers sticky with his own come, and parts of his body are bared to the air. Not that Renji's ever been particularly modest, but he feels stripped naked right now. And it's a disquieting feeling.

"As entertaining as that might be, Abarai-kun, I'm not here to blackmail you," Urahara-san says carefully though he never lost that edge to his tone. "This just happens to be a matter of providence for me."

A matter of providence? What the fuck is he talking about?

Renji knows he must be gaping like a landed fish. And he can't seem to formulate any kind of response other. Except to give Urahara-san a stupefied expression.

The blond chuckles and turns on his heel. Geta an annoying, distinctive clack-clack of noise against the hard-packed dirt.

"You should get cleaned up, Abarai-kun. Unless you're planning on making today the day you confess," he tosses over his shoulder.

Confess? The thought has never crossed Renji's mind. Confess? To what purpose? To watch Ichigo get all uncomfortable around him, to realize that his kinda-sorta friend has been harboring all sorts of lusty thoughts. And worse, that it won't matter anyway because Ichigo's with that Arrancar now – if that's what they want to call it – and there's not any room for Renji. If there was even any room before.

The vice-captain knocks his head back against the boulder, skull rapping sharply. Not enough to hurt. Just to feel it. And half-considers banging his head into the boulder a few times. Wondering if it will be enough to pound some sense into his brain.

He hears voice somewhere behind him, growing louder. Ichigo and that Hollow are arguing. Not mean-spirited but their usual annoyed banter. No doubt Grimmjow's challenging Ichigo to some sort of spar so he can feel like king of the mountain again. And Ichigo puts up with it for some reason Renji can't understand. He just doesn't see what Ichigo finds so alluring about the damn Arrancar. And not for the first time, Renji wishes he hadn't helped, that he hadn't been there to hit Grimmjow with a binding kidoh and haul his unconscious ass to Urahara-san's.

Things would be so much easier if Renji hadn't given a damn.

* * *

a/n: There _will _be a sequel to this. I don't know when, but I'm not going to give this up. The pairing is too delicious. *grins*

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!


	178. Flash Fiction Collection 1

a/n: So every other Friday, just about, I run something called Flash Fiction Friday on my livejournal. It's when I open up the table for requests in any of my fandoms I write in, for people to ask for a pairing and a prompt and I write a short fic with. Since I'm building so many, I thought I'd share some of them with my readers here. Please enjoy the first three of many, many more to come.

Also, these are unbeta'ed, so beware the occasional grammatical errors.

**Characters/Pairing: Hitsugaya and Shuuhei  
Prompt: an unlikely friendship  
Words: 484  
Rating: K+  
Warning: Mild Spoilers**

He ends up sharing a room with Hitsugaya-taichou. Shuuhei suspects it has more to do with the overflow of patients the fourth division has experienced than any real planning on their part. No doubt Unohana-taichou just pushed every injured body into the next available bed and let bygones be bygones.

Not that Hitsugaya-taichou is a terrible roommate.

He, like Shuuhei, spends most of his healing time staring at the ceiling, no doubt thinking of the same war and the same blood and the same gripping feelings of guilt that tear into Shuuhei's conscience as well. It's hard not to think of it, really, with the bitter smell of herbs on the air, mixing with the thick copper stench of blood and open wounds, the occasional moan of pain from down the hall, the faint sound of weeping as a soft accompaniment to the after-war misery.

Frankly, Shuuhei's surprised anyone is calling _this_ a victory.

"You know, Hisagi. Tousen was wrong."

Hitsugaya-taichou's voice spills into the soft quiet, startling Shuuhei from his blank staring at the white walls.

He blinks. "Sir?"

Those bright, teal eyes focus on him intently. "You shouldn't fear your zanpakutou," Hitsugaya-taichou elaborates, and then his eyes drop to his own hands, where his fingers clench and unclench around one another. "Instead, you should fear the hand that holds it."

Realization dawns; Shuuhei nods in mute understanding. He closes his eyes and inhales slowly. "That battle was the first time I had ever held Kazeshini without fear."

Hitsugaya-taichou shifts on his bed, voice soft and bitter. "Ironic, isn't it? How it was the same battle where I feared Hyourimaru for the first time."

Shuuhei doesn't need further explanation. It wasn't Hyourinmaru that the captain had feared, but the power and ability behind his own hand.

"Hinamori won't blame you."

"I don't need her to." Shuuhei's eyes open to see Hitsugaya-taichou watching him steadily. "Tousen in his right mind would've been proud of you, Hisagi."

There's a dry, bitter taste in Shuuhei's mouth, and he swallows over a lump in his throat. "For killing him?"

"For doing the right thing." Hitsugaya-taichou's lips curl into a soft, sad smile that must echo the one on Shuuhei's face. "In the end, I think even Tousen hated what he had become.

Shuuhei is not as out of touch with reality as Hinamori, but he honestly believes that Tousen had been poisoned by Aizen. That a good man had been brought down by pretty words and twisted logic. He's relieved that someone else agrees, relieved that he might even be able to recall his former captain with fondness.

"And when we get out of here, we should share a drink," Hitsugaya-taichou adds with a groan as he shifts on his own bed. "I think we could both use one."

Shuuhei can't agree more.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Aizen/Ichigo  
Prompt: kittens  
Words: 359  
Rating: M  
Warning: slash, boys kissing boys, some cursing**

The voice that purrs in his ear might as well be crafted from sin, making shivers travel down Ichigo's back at just the sound of it. It whispers of promises and seduction and all the dirty little things Ichigo wants but can't see himself asking for.

Accompanying this voice is a set of hands, calloused and strong, stroking down his sides. Over his abdomen and hip, tickling down his thigh, pinching at his nipples until they are reddened, aching nipples. There's the warm press of skin, slick with sweat, and the brush of warm air across his neck.

Ichigo groans, head falling back onto Sousuke's shoulder as the older man surges inside of him with a slow, lazy pace, hands in constant motion. Ichigo's own have reached back, one grasped in thick brown hair, the other clutching expensive bedsheets. Only the best for the king, after all.

One hand palms Ichigo's aching arousal, squeezing the taut flesh and forcing a moan past Ichigo's lips.

"Enticing," Sousuke murmurs into his ear, tongue snaking out to curl wetly around the delicate shell. "Will you come for me, kitten?"

Ichigo, agreeably riding the motion of Sousuke's thrusts, suddenly stills. Wait… kitten? His hold on Sousuke's hair tightens.

"Kitten?" Ichigo repeats with a scowl on his face, wishing he could turn to point it at Sousuke but pinned in place by their position. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

"You don't like it?" Sousuke asks, his voice a sultry purr that is vaguely amused.

"Why would I?" Ichigo growls, and tries to twist away, but Sousuke rolls his hips, strikes that place just right inside Ichigo, and dissolves him into a warm mass of pleasure.

Sousuke's fingers stroke him skillfully. "I think it suits you, _kitten_," he says, stroking one hand down Ichigo's back and encouraging him to arch into the touch, a soft moan leaving his lips.

"See?" Sousuke says, far too smug for his own good.

Ichigo, voice taken by the pleasure streaking through his veins, couldn't find it in him to protest. But Sousuke would definitely pay for this later.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Ichigo/Gin  
Prompt: n/a  
Rating: T  
Words: 441  
Warnings: slash, some groping**

There are hints of the past in the way Gin sleeps. Lightly, more like a doze, curled on his side as though waiting for some inevitable stab in the back while he's most vulnerable, covers pulled tight, one hand always loose and free in the off chance that a kidoh might need be thrown at a moment's notice.

Even a year after Aizen's war, this habit hasn't changed much.

Except this morning, Ichigo is the first to wake. He rolls over, fully expecting to find himself the recipient of an amber-eyed stare as Gin watches him sleep as he always does, woken first by morning rays of light and the general noise of a busy morning outside their window. Instead, Ichigo finds Gin as he's never seen the former captain before: stretched out on his belly, blankets pooled at his hips revealing the slim, pale lines of his back, his face relaxed in repose.

Gin hardly looks like the evil villain Soul Society makes him out to be. Ichigo supposes he can't blame them, considering that Gin had sided with Aizen at one point and helped destroy the lives of a lot of people. Still, if Chamber 46 and the old fart could see Gin now, maybe they'd changed their minds. Not that Gin would ever allow himself to be so vulnerable around them.

All but holding his breath, Ichigo frees a hand from the covers, wondering when Gin will wake and ruin this moment. But jostling the bed doesn't cause Gin to stir and Ichigo lays his hand against Gin's back, stroking over pale skin, fingers tracing the line of visible scars. Some are older even than Gin's Academy years. Ichigo knows this, but doesn't ask because admitting as much had been painful, reminding Gin of a time he'd rather forget.

Gin's skin is cool beneath his fingertips, from being exposed to the chilly morning air. His breathing is soft and even and Ichigo inches closer, because this is so rare and he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Wants to watch Gin wake up for the first time and not to wariness or fear, but comfort and familiarity instead.

Ichigo presses a kiss to Gin's bare shoulder, hears Gin's breathing change. His fingers stroke down the length of Gin's spine, barely there touches meant to soothe and arouse. Gin's reiatsu, quietly humming around his body, stirs and reaches outward, coiling with the furthest edges of Ichigo's own. Amber eyes slowly open, warm with drowsiness.

Ichigo kisses a bare shoulder again. "Good morning," he whispers, voice still raspy from recent sleep.

A gentle smile curves Gin's lips. "Mornin'."

* * *

a/n: There are many more flash fiction to come. If you're curious, you can also visit my livejournal to check it out. Friend me if you'd like. I tend to update on livejournal before anything else.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.


	179. Somnambulist

**Title: Somnambulist**

**Characters: Ichigo/Urahara, hinted Zangetsu/Urahara**

**Rating: M/NC-17**

**Warnings: boysmut, voyeurism, self-lovin'**

**Words: 1629**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Closer**_**. Ichigo's been having dreams lately. One's too real to be mere fiction and a little too close to home. **

**

* * *

**He can't remember when the dreams started. Or what inspires them in the first place. All Ichigo knows is that they come without warning and that they are vivid, leaving him with an embarrassing problem in the morning. Waking up to wet sheets is never fun, especially when your sister is usually in charge of the laundry. Lately, Ichigo's been taking that task on for himself. He can't stand the thought of Yuzu washing this kind of stain.

Yeah, Ichigo's suffering from wet dreams. And to make matters worse, they star someone he would've never expected. Not Rukia with her small hands and slim hips. Or Inoue with her large breasts and her tiny waist and bright smile. Or Yoruichi-san with all her curves and teasing, full lips. Or hell, even Byakuya with his cold grey eyes and sensuous mouth and occasionally questionable gender.

No, Ichigo's delusions have taken a decidedly _male_ turn, and he's never even known himself to have a liking for men. Then again, he should've realized that much when he started to fall in love with Urahara Kisuke. Yet another piece of _what the fuck_ that seems to comprise his life lately.

The dreams only make things worse.

They change quite frequently, but the theme remains the same. Whether Ichigo is himself or Zangetsu or Shirosaki or some strange amalgam of any of the above doesn't matter. Whatever form he's in, Ichigo is always, always, _always_, screwing the daylights out of Urahara Kisuke.

Up against a wall. In the shower. On the floor. In Urahara-san's underground training basement with dust clogging the air, the taste of it and his teacher's sweat on his tongue. The feel of that body moving beneath his, muscles strong and tensed. The geta-boushi flushed and Ichigo gasping for breath as he pushes into him. Wanting more, more, _more_.

It's enough to drive Ichigo crazy. Doesn't he have enough problems with two other personalities – all echoes of himself – constantly inside his head? His psychosis decides that adding sex dreams of his master to the convoluted mix is the next best step?

What's worse is that they are always so vivid, so _real_. Ichigo wakes to phantom tastes on the tip of his tongue. To the feel of phantom fingers dragging through his hair, lips tingling where they'd been bitten or ruthlessly kissed. He wakes to the fading sensation of legs locked around him, urging him deeper. To echoes of a masculine voice in his ear, just as demanding.

Sometimes, Ichigo wonders if he has developed an obsession somehow and somewhere. If without his knowledge, he has become fixated. As though his subconscious is trying to tell him the truth of his desires. That he wants Urahara-san, forwards, backwards, upside down and sideways.

Tonight is no different than any other night.

Some details are so clear, others blurry and indistinct. There's a faint impression of location. Four walls, a room somewhere, light slanting across the floor from a streetlight beyond the closed blinds. There's furniture, but it's blurry, dark shapes in the dim of the room. All Ichigo really recognizes is the bed, especially considering that it's beneath him and all. The bed is made, but the covers are rumpled and disordered, pillow tossed to the floor.

It's utterly silent, save for the sound of their bodies moving together. The sound of Urahara-san's quiet gasps. The hitch in Ichigo's own breathing, the soft rasp of his hands over bare skin. The creak of the mattress under them.

He's himself this time. Ichigo isn't sure why he's so certain; he just knows that he's himself and not another facet of his personality. It's his hands and his lips and his tongue tracing circles on a collarbone, the sharp taste of the geta-boushi's sweat on his lips.

Urahara-san is sprawled across the bed in front of him, hat missing, blond hair a disarrayed halo across his face. A few slats of light from the window highlight the sheen to his face, the way he constantly drags his tongue over his lips or chews on them even. The gleam in eyes that constantly shift from gray to green. Ichigo never really paid much attention to the man's eyes before, but he notices them now.

Ichigo has never known his teacher to be this flexible, but he supposes that's the beauty of dreams. The things that happen don't necessarily have to be possible in real life.

The blond smells like gunpowder and candy and other, more bitter scents that remind Ichigo of hospitals and the biology lab at his school. The scents cling to Urahara-san's skin and hair, but his sweat is salty on Ichigo's tongue.

Ichigo can't tell what color the bedspread is, but he knows that Urahara-san's hair is ash blond, that there's a trail of hair that leads from the shopkeeper's navel – an innie, by the way – down to a thatch of equally blond hair. It can't be that real life is supplying the intensity of the images because Ichigo's never seen this man stripped all the way down. But his imagination is certainly filling in the blanks with stark clarity.

One of Urahara-san's hands clutches to Ichigo's arm, the right, which is pressed into the mattress for balance. His fingers squeeze in an uneven pace. Ichigo has Urahara-san's right leg in his left hand, hooked just below his knee, pushing it back, giving him more room to move. His hips have a rhythm, a perfect rhythm that lets him slide in and out, pushing into tight-hot-clenching sensation.

The blond has only encouragement to offer. Voice low and throaty, raspy, thick with need. Moans and groans, finger squeezing desperately, demanding more. Ichigo himself is no better. Breath little more than frantic pants, sweat collecting on his forehead, trickling down his back.

He watches, avid, as Urahara-san's free hand slides down his chest, palm rubbing briefly over peaked nipples before continuing a path downward. Ichigo's heart leaps into his throat, and desire twists in his belly as he watches those fingers scratch through the thatch of blond hair before grasping his own arousal. His lover wastes no time in stroking himself, bringing himself pleasure.

The sight makes Ichigo's eyes widen, his breath shorten. It's so damn erotic, in perfect match to the look of hunger on Urahara-san's face. To the way his blond hair clings sweatily to his forehead, the way his body arches and twists beneath Ichigo. The way his right foot is planted against the mattress, allowing him to push up against Ichigo and urge him deeper.

It's a dream, but the sensation is so intense it might as well be real. Urahara-san is hot and clenching and smells so strongly of gunpowder and antiseptic. Ichigo wants to kiss him, so he does. Leaning forward to bring their bodies together. The kiss isn't deep; they are at too much of an awkward angle for anything more than brushing their mouths together, tongues touching teasingly. But it's oh so good, igniting the heat that's already roaring through Ichigo like a wildfire.

Their tongues tangle briefly, Ichigo loving the taste of this man on his lips. Urahara-san gasps something wordless, or maybe it's the rushing in Ichigo's ears that makes it difficult for him to tell what it is. The geta-boushi moans. Ichigo watches as Urahara-san writhes beneath him, splattering his belly with fluid.

Muscles ripple around Ichigo's arousal and pull him toward release. He tries to linger, to hold onto the pleasure wracking his body, wrapping around him and pulling him down into deprave clutches. But Ichigo is only human. He succumbs with a hoarse shout, grip tightening on Urahara-san's thigh to the point of bruising.

His hips twitch and jerk as he spills himself. Sweat streams down his body, the fire in his belly like an explosive blaze. The world dims and fades, whites out, sparks dancing down his spine.

And Ichigo wakes with all the force of a man startled from sleep by loud noise or intruder. He is hard to the point of pain, fluid seeping from the head of his rigid length. He shoves his hand into his pants as he curls on his side, biting down on his other hand to hold back the noisy sounds threatening to spill from his lips. It doesn't take long at all, not with the images so fresh in his mind. Not with the taste dancing on his tongue, so sharp and clear.

His entire body shudders as he tastes blood on his lips; he's bitten too hard on his fingers. Ichigo hardly notices, not as his climax goes roaring through him. So good it hurts, making his muscles tense as he writhes beneath his bedcovers. He soaks his hand, splatters his sheets. The sharp smell of sweat and semen fills his bedroom. If he concentrates, he swears he can detect the faintest whiff of gunpowder.

Ichigo sags against the mattress, boneless, heart thudding in his chest as though unable to be calmed. His hand aches where he'd gnawed on his knuckles, and he knows he'll have to get up, clean himself off, change his sheets for the _third fucking time_ this week.

This is getting to the point of ridiculousness.

"_Ya know what ya need ta do. Doncha, aibou?_"Shirosaki drawls then, voice thick with humor and something else. Longing perhaps. "_Otherwise, yer just gettin' more 'n more pathetic_._"_

Ichigo curses under his breath. That damn Hollow has a point, and Ichigo knows it.

There's only one cure to his plight. One person who can ease whatever this madness is that has inflicted Ichigo.

And his name is Urahara Kisuke.

* * *

a/n: Yeah, this is another one that's going to turn into a series. I can already see it. lol. So don't mind the cliffhanger for long!

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	180. Burning in the Skies

**Title: Burning in the Skies**

**Characters: Aizen/Urahara, Shinji**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: boykisses, massive spoilers**

**Words: 3058**

**Description: Sequel to **_**Tomorrow in a Bottle **_**and _Anthem of Our Dying Day_**_**. **_**Kisuke wakes from a memory, wondering what's truth, what's lie, and if he'll ever forget either of them. **

**Dedication: For **_**Emyrei**_**, who wanted this pairing. **

* * *

_The sound of a lock clicking into place is what makes Kisuke blink and glance up from the stack of paperwork he's been bent over for the past few hours. He swears something in his neck creaks as he forces his head up, brow lifting in surprise at the sight of Aizen-fukutaichou standing in front of his door. He looks perfectly innocent. As though he hasn't just been caught stepping into a superior's office and locking the door behind him. _

"_Aizen-fukutaichou?" Kisuke greets and is surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds. He swears all his muscles groan as he sits up, forcing his fingers to unfurl from around the brush as he leans back in his chair, back popping like an old man. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" _

_One dark eyebrow lifts in disbelief as the vice-captain approaches his desk with lips curled in a faint smile. "It's lunchtime, Urahara-taichou. Or haven't you noticed?" _

_Come to think of it, the twelfth division has been sounding rather quiet in the past few minutes. The lack of noise has only been a small blip on the edge of Kisuke's mind. He's been far too focused on these supply requisitions, disciplinary notes, and weekly updates on the progress of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute for the captain-commander. Still, his stomach chooses that moment to grumble weakly, sounding as though it had been complaining for quite some time and Kisuke has only just noticed. _

"_Ah, so it is," he replies and tilts his head to the side, looking up at the brunet with amusement coloring his tone. "Hirako didn't ask you out to lunch?" _

_Aizen – or Sousuke rather, they are alone right now after all – leans forward. His hands plant flat on Kisuke's desktop so that they are almost eye to eye, despite the furniture between them. _

"_I would've ended up treating him if he had. I snuck out the back while Sarugaki-fukutaichou was distracting him." _

_Kisuke laughs, thinking of the volatile relationship between his second seat and Hirako. They are much like siblings, constantly at odds but loyal to one another. _

"_So you came here instead?" _

_Sousuke leans forward and reaches for his free hand, fingers stroking over the inside of Kisuke's wrists. He does that for a full minute without making a verbal response. Just ghosting his fingertips over skin and sending a chill down the captain's spine._

"_Kisuke," Sousuke finally murmurs._

_And just the sound of his name in that tone, that voice, makes Kisuke shiver. _

"_Kisuke… your division has all gone to lunch." _

"_How convenient," the blond comments and lets the heat curling through his body show in his eyes. He's hungry, yes, but food can wait. The hunger building in him is now of a different sort. "I don't recall properly making this office mine." _

_It is Sousuke's turn to laugh, rich and full, as he slowly brings a hand to his lips. First kissing a palm and then drawing a finger into his mouth, warm tongue flicking over the single digit. It brings to mind other places Sousuke's tongue could be useful, and Kisuke shifts in his seat. He feels himself grow within the confines of his hakama. _

"_What did you have in mind?" Sousuke questions, breath a warm puff over Kisuke's spit damp fingers. _

_He licks his lips pointedly. "It involves you circling my desk, for one thing," Kisuke suggests, voice thick with rising desire. He clears his throat noisily. _

"_I think I can manage that," the brunet allows, humor dancing in his eyes behind those clunky glasses. _

_Without losing his grip, he moves around the desk. Kisuke turns in his chair to face him and looks up to meet Sousuke's eyes. _

"_That's better," Kisuke whispers and reaches up with his free hand, curling fingers in the front of Sousuke's shihakushou and gently pulling him down. _

_He sees Sousuke smile before their mouths collide, Sousuke teasing with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Fingers stroke slowly over Kisuke's wrist. A touch that for all its innocence, sparks sexual tension through his entire body. Visions of all the things they could be doing in this office pour through him and fill him with heat. Sousuke's free hand curls against the side of his neck, thumb gliding over his throat as he pulls back. _

"_I think we could stand to properly initiate your desk, don't you?" _

_Kisuke groans deep in his throat at the thought. He glances once at the paperwork he's been working on since the wee hours of the morning. Apparently, it's something of a necessity to the captain-commander, and he isn't pleased that Kisuke has been ignoring it. _

"_It can wait," Sousuke says, and his lips brush Kisuke's, a tantalizing tease. "I might even be convinced to help you." _

_What exactly he planned to __**help**__ is a lingering promise between them. _

Kisuke wakes to a startling blackness, only a thin stream of light peeking through the blinds of his room. It's still dark outside, still nighttime, the middle of the night. Once again, dreams of the past have kept him from finishing the night in sleep.

Kisuke curls on his side and tucks a hand under his cheek, closing his eyes to linger in the last images of his dream, the lingering sensations. There's a wetness, a heat, burning at the back of his lids, but he swallows it down over a lump in his throat. If his fingers are trembling, he pretends not to notice.

He won't be getting any more sleep tonight. Kisuke knows this already. Four hours seems to be the maximum before the memories get too much. He wonders if this is Sousuke's final revenge, forever tormenting his one-time lover with the past and the future that should have been and all that Kisuke has slain with his own hands.

He doesn't have to look to see the zanpakutou lying on the floor next to his futon, carefully placed right next to Benihime. Kisuke reaches out a free hand, lays his fingers over the sheaths of both blades, feels an answering pulse from each. Kyouka Suigetsu should have no reiatsu, no pulse, no life. But she vibrates under his fingers, hums and resonates in tune with Benihime.

That irritating heat again banks at his eyes, and Kisuke keeps his lids firmly shut. Concentrates on sensation instead. The cool smoothness of the sheaths. The lingering trace of reiatsu. The fragrance of the laundry detergent on his sheets and an underlying smell that seems to come with him everywhere he goes. A scent from the past that stubbornly lingers.

It's been weeks, months, half a year, and Kisuke hasn't forgotten. Not a single moment, not a single memory. He closes his eyes and still feels the warm stickiness of blood on his hands. He still sees the last look in Sousuke's eyes. Still feels the way his own heart betrayed him, wishing for this man's words to be the truth.

Kisuke hates that he still believes.

He can't help but wonder how much of their past was a lie, a falsity, something meant to gain his trust. The same mask and persona Aizen Sousuke wielded for everyone else, the same that Kisuke was treated to. How far did he go in his pursuit of godhood? Who else had he spun into his seductive web? Was breaking Kisuke part of the plan or just an unexpected bonus?

The blond swallows over another lump in his throat and forces himself to sit up, casting the covers aside and situating his robe around his body. He'll do no good lingering in bed, waiting for a rest that won't come. Thinking in circles, over and over, doubting himself and the past and the things he wants to believe but shouldn't. He doesn't know what would be better in the long run. Not anymore.

Without thinking of the whys, Kisuke tucks both Benihime and Kyouka Suigetsu into the sash of his nemaki and pads softly out of his room, opening the door to a quiet, dim hallway. Years in the second division have taught him ways of moving around in the dark, but he is drawn to the spray of light coming from the kitchen. Along with the persistent aroma of freshly brewed tea.

"_What is it?" _

_The captain hums, examining the strange substance currently cradled in the palm of his hand. "I'm not entirely sure yet. I meant it to make us stronger, and it does that, but not quite the way I expected." _

_Sousuke's eyes seem all the brighter as he stares. "Stronger? Why?" _

"_Why not?" Kisuke shrugs and turns, setting the orb he had created – still nameless – back into the stand. A light pulse of power dances on the end of his fingertips and briefly connects him to it before he pulls back. "Isn't that the nature of a human being to constantly seek more power? And isn't it the nature of the scientist to strive to break down preconceived barriers?" _

_Sousuke inclines his head, leaning forward to examine the orb in its resting place. Seemingly fascinated by the play of light against the quartz-like substance. _

"_You are brilliant." _

_The blond feels himself flush before he can stop the embarrassing reaction. He's not so modest that he doesn't acknowledge his own intelligence. But it sounds different and __**feels **__different, when coming from Sousuke somehow. He doesn't need to be validated by this man's approval, but he likes it nonetheless. _

"_What will be even more brilliant is if I can figure out a way to properly harness its abilities," Kisuke replies, trying to hide the warm flutters in his belly. "Until then, it's nothing more than decoration." _

"_Even so, you're already one step closer to your goal," Sousuke comments and leans back to focus on him. "Not many people can say that." _

_Kisuke resists the urge to preen. Instead, he lifts a hand, tangling his fingers in strands of brown hair to drag Sousuke in for a kiss. It's not so much that no one has ever believed in him before or that he's never had any support because that would a lie. Yoruichi wouldn't have put him up for the position of captain if she hadn't believed in him. But there's something to be said about hearing the words from the mouth of your lover. Something immeasurable. _

_It doesn't take long for the kiss to deepen into more. For Sousuke's arm to slide around the blond's waist as he pulls them together. For Kisuke himself to grip onto Sousuke's shihakushou, well aware that this is his private laboratory and that there's little – if any – chance of someone walking in on them. _

_For now, Kisuke's new invention sits to the side, forgotten, in the wake of far more pleasurable pursuits. _

"Hey."

He blinks out of the memory and stares into the kitchen. Kisuke is reasonably surprised to find that Shinji is awake, fingers curled around a warm mug, blinking sleepily as he stares off into the distance. Eyes flicker his direction and notice him immediately.

"Couldn't sleep?" Shinji drawls in a hoarse voice, gesturing to the empty seat at the table.

"Something like that," the younger man answers and helps himself to the sweet-smelling tea, glad that Shinji has already brewed some and he doesn't have to risk making some for himself. "Why are you awake?"

Shinji shrugs, taking another pointed sip of his tea. "Even someone like me has nightmares."

Nightmares.

Kisuke is all too familiar with those. Only his don't take the form of corpses and battle and blood and pain. They are an agony of a different sort. They are visions of a blissful past that have become tainted by the truth of the present. Kisuke almost wishes he could wake up screaming, terrified and guilty like so many others, as opposed to waking with this hole in his chest and a growing sense of emptiness.

He inclines his head and takes a seat, letting the strong aroma of the tea – chamomile he guesses – waft toward him. It's just enough to chase away enduring memories of Sousuke's scent that refuse to leave him alone. He's still convinced it must be Sousuke's last revenge of some kind, some way that Kyouka Suigetsu is carrying her master's final wishes. Why else would she have remained after his death? Why else would she allow Kisuke to be the only one to bear her?

"Ya couldn't have saved him, ya know."

Shinji's voice cuts through the silence. His eyes watch his friend, so knowingly, and Kisuke hates the pity he sees there. Just as much as he's glad someone cares enough to pity him.

"I never even considered it."

Shinji scoffs behind his cup. "Liar."

Kisuke sighs. He taps a finger on the table for a second before moving his hands to his lap.

"He didn't think of himself as needing saving. And I can't honestly say he was wrong either," he explains.

Shinji works his jaw for a moment. "Now that one yer goin' ta have ta explain ta me."

"His methods were a little overzealous and destructive, but his goals… his goals are not beyond my understanding," Kisuke says and finds the fingers of his free hand quietly stroking over Kyouka Suigetsu's hilt. She seems to thrum in agreement with him, a pleasant and warm hum perfectly in tune with Benihime.

"So what?" Shinji shifts, and a frown twists his mouth. "Yer goin' ta finish his work fer him?"

Kisuke shakes his head. "I have no desire for godhood. Even I can see that it would've destroyed the delicate balance we maintain."

He won't ever admit aloud, however, that he has considered it on occasion. A god has no limitations; the power is completely unsurpassed. Kisuke could accomplish things he can't as a mere mortal or Shinigami. He could _fix_ the things he's broken.

He could see Sousuke again. Ask all the questions that still simmer in the back of his mind, burn the tip of his tongue. Find out what was truth and lie, achieve some _peace. _

"But he was right in other things," Kisuke adds, after realizing he has fallen strangely quiet. He clears his throat pointedly. "Soul Society's due a change."

Shinji exhales slowly, giving Kisuke a sharp look. But then, he grins.

"Phew. Ya had me worried there. For a minute, I thought his megalomania had rubbed off on you."

Kisuke's eyes narrow. "He was _not _crazy."

"Nope. Just another guy with delusions of grandeur," Shinji comments and tosses a pointed look in Kisuke's direction, ever directly honest. "Who couldn't see the values of the things he already had."

That squeezing, pulling sensation in his chest returns. Kisuke swallows thickly.

"I'm only Shinigami after all. What interest would I have held to a man who was to be god?"

"More than you'd think."

His friend rises to his feet, yawning noticeably and glancing at the sky beyond the kitchen window. Dawn comes swiftly, but it's not as though they have anywhere to be. Shinji pauses in the doorway on his way out, fingers tapping a nonsense rhythm on the frame.

"Fer what it's worth, Kisuke, I don't think everything about Sou-chan was a lie. If there's anyone who saw his true self, it was you."

Kisuke snorts. An attempt at disbelief but more or less an action to conceal the stab of hope that slashes through him. Shinji leaves him alone to his tea with a murmured goodnight. Kisuke sits and stares into the distance, sipping quietly at the chamomile, trying to erase memories of the past that refuse to go away.

_Sousuke laughs. "You can't make that move. It's against the rules." _

_The captain twists his jaw stubbornly, finger still poised over his piece. "No, it's not," he argues and tilts his head to the side, looking over the board again. For all that he can see, it's a perfectly legitimate course of action. He's so close to beating Sousuke for once; he can taste it. _

_Fingers cover his own as Sousuke gently slides the piece back to its former position. "No, you __**can't**__," he repeats patiently. "This is not a ranging piece. It's a knight, which means-"_

"_-that it can only jump at an angle," Kisuke cuts in, tone frustrated as he concedes that Sousuke is indeed right. _

_Drat. In his eagerness for victory, he'd forgotten a key point. _

"_I remember." _

"_Just making sure," the vice-captain returns and lifts his hand, running fingers through his hair that's lying loose around his face. "So I'll pretend I didn't see that move, and you can try again." _

_Kisuke sniffs, sitting back in his chair. "Don't give me any favors. I can take my licks as they are owed. Make your move." _

_It irks sometimes that Sousuke is by all accounts younger than him but Kisuke is often the one who is more childlike. _

_Smiling to himself as though amused, the brunet proceeds to do just that. "You are improving," he states as a piece clicks across the board, effectively boxing Kisuke in place. He never gives the blond any leeway for his amateur status, and for that, Kisuke is grateful. _

"_Not fast enough," the captain grumbles and eyes the board intensely. He's sure there's still some way he can turn this around to his advantage. _

_He leans forward, eyes moving from piece to piece, looking for the perfect move that will grant him a victory. Mind considering possibility after possibility, thinking steps ahead of himself, picturing Sousuke's defeat. _

_And then a hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and lingering with a very distracting touch. The blond startles, looks up, and gets a glimpse of Sousuke's eyes before a mouth descend over his. Kisuke's first thought isn't even to protest, as much as it is to participate. Sousuke's lips are warm and inviting, and Kisuke is the first to introduce tongue, despite the awkward nature of the kiss with the game board stretching perilously between them. _

"_That is an unfair move, Aizen-fukutaichou," Kisuke murmurs into the kiss, all tactics effectively tossed out the window. _

_Sousuke chuckles, a warm puff of breath over Kisuke's mouth. "All part of my strategy, my dear." _

"_Cheater," Kisuke mumbles, but it's half-hearted at best. _

_He's not really interested in the game. Not anymore. _

* * *

a/n: The title of the song and the series was borrowed from Linkin Park's newest album. Also, there is a fourth part in this series. Whether or not there's a fifth part, I'm not sure. But there's definitely a fourth. It's already been finished!

UraAizen is my pairing of choice and I love writing it. This series has a special place in my heart so I hope you enjoyed it!

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated._  
_


	181. Flash Fiction Collection 2

a/n: This update has been long overdue. Please enjoy!

**Pairing/Characters: ShuuheixRenji**

**Prompt: reunion**

**Rating: M**

**Words: 585**

**Warnings: spoilers, slash, smut between males**

"You bastard," Shuuhei snarls, fingers curling tighter in Renji's hair, tugging the blood-bright strands hard enough to force Renji's head back, baring his throat. Each harsh word is punctuated by a surge of Shuuhei's hips as he slams inside Renji, sweat already coating his body in a light film, his breath coming in sharp pants.

Renji growls, his body surging to meet every one of Shuuhei's violent thrusts, his large hands planted against the wall, fingers white-knuckled in their grip. The muscles in his back flex, his skin streaked with sweat, making those damned sexy tattoos ripple and glisten.

"Not my fault," Renji snaps, and he's probably glaring but Shuuhei can't tell. His grip won't allow Renji to turn and face him. Renji can't do anything but bear it, struggling on the cusp of release and begging for more.

Shuuhei's free hand grabs Renji's hip, fingers digging into that tanned flesh, splaying over black tattoos. There will be bruises tomorrow, Shuuhei thinks, but he can't be bothered to care. Certainly Renji isn't putting up a protest.

"It always is," Shuuhei mutters, slamming his hips forward, pain as much as pleasure, his body crying for release as much as his heart is. "Always has been."

Renji snarls, and one amber eye comes into view, lit with rage and other things like worry and relief. "You think you're punishing me? I can't even _feel_ it, Shuu."

"You're a damn masochist," Shuuhei gasps, sucking in a sharp breath as he leans forward, presses against Renji from behind, locks his teeth on his lover's shoulder.

Renji hisses, clenching down on Shuuhei's cock, more aroused than hurt. They've always been like this, violence and sex, as if the two can't be taken alone.

"Then make me feel it," Renji demands, a note of urgency in his voice. "Make me _break_."

If that is what he wants, then Shuuhei has no problem obliging. He lets go of Renji's hair, lets it flutter down the redhead's back, and puts both hands on Renji's hips. Shuuhei's been dancing on the edge for the past few minutes; it won't take him much longer to fall over. Renji, he knows, is in the same straits.

The bed creaks, mattress squeaks obscenely, and Shuuhei's own breath comes in sharp pants. There are dots sparkling on the edge of his vision, but he doesn't care. All he can see is the fall of crimson hair – like blood, so much like blood – and the stark lines of Renji's tattoos. There's an eclipsing sensation that they are both alive even when a certain redhead is stubborn enough to think he can take on a whole horde of Arrancar and live to tell the tale.

Which Renji did, in fact, do, but that's not the point.

Shuuhei slams his hips forward, hears Renji gasp before the redhead's hand drops down to stroke himself. He's already desperate and it takes only a few strokes before he spills on the bedcovers, Shuuhei following him over a few ragged thrusts later.

Shuuhei slumps, forehead pressing against the middle of Renji's sweaty back and pants, feeling his heart thump like a bass line in his chest. Renji sounds equally exhausted and silence fills the room until Renji speaks.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You'd do it again if you had the opportunity," Shuuhei mutters, looking up at him.

Renji turns his head and grins, that crooked, fang-bearing grin. "Yeah, I would."

* * *

**Pairing: Hitsugaya/Gin**

**Prompt: Coke vs. Pepsi**

**Words: 446**

**Rating: T**

**Warnings: language, kiss between men**

"I think Pepsi's better cuz it's sweeter," Gin purrs, holding up his can to the sky and squinting at it.

Toushirou snorts. "You would," he mutters, and looks at his own bright red can. "Coke stays fizzy longer."

Laughing, Gin leans against him, all long, thin limbs and flirty behavior. "Mebbe so, but Pepsi tastes better."

"That's a matter of opinion," Toushirou retorts, and pops open his can with a satisfying noise that echoes on the spring breeze.

"Yep, and my opinion is the right one," Gin says, and leans in, nipping at Toushirou's ear as his other hand swoops down, snagging Toushirou's Coke and quickly replacing it with Gin's Pepsi. "Ye'll like this better, I'll bet."

Toushirou instinctively follows after his stolen Coke, wanting nothing to do with the Pepsi. Gin, however, easily keeps the can out of his reach. Damn the man for having longer arms than him!

"Give it back," he growls, eyes flashing blue fire.

Gin's grinning now – when is he not for that matter? – and he only leans further away. "Nope," he denies cheerfully.

"_Gin_."

"What am I gonna get in return?" Gin asks, still absurdly cheerful, but his voice a deeper purr now. "There's gotta be equivalent exchange 'nd all that, right?"

"It was mine in the first place!" Toushirou protests, refusing to make another vain grab for the can and look like a bigger idiot.

"Give me a kiss," Gin says, wiggling the can enticingly. "And mebbe I'll consider it."

Toushirou barely keeps from rolling his eyes. Of _course_, Gin would request such a thing. It's in the man's nature to be as annoying as possible.

"Just one," Toushirou agrees grudgingly. "And then you'll give me back my drink."

Gin's grin widens. "Yer so cute when ya pout," he says and swoops in for a kiss that tastes like the ice cream they've just eaten.

Their tongues tangle and Toushirou suppresses a moan. If there's one thing Gin excels at, it's kissing. He moves their lips together, soft and slow, and a part of Toushirou doesn't even care that it's broad daylight and public and they make for a very odd couple.

Their lips part and Toushirou tries to screw his face into something stern and unmoving. "I am not cute," Toushirou says. "And I am not pouting either."

"Of course ya are," Gin says, and steals Toushirou's lips again, in a kiss steamier than last time.

Toushirou doesn't bother to roll his eyes. He should have known. With Gin, it's _never_ just one kiss.

* * *

**Pairings/Characters: ShirosakixUrahara**

**Prompt: Letting the Hollow out to play**

**Rating: M**

**Words: 495**

**Warning: smut between men, language, spoilers, light bondage**

Kisuke tugs on his wrists, but they barely raise an inch, bound by the white ribbon usually coiled around Zangetsu's hilt. The token attempt is just for show, however. Kisuke has no desires or intentions to break free. Not with his blood burning in his veins, his heart beating a fierce rhythm, and his cock throbbing in the open air.

He's been stripped naked, arms bound above his head by his lover's sword no less, has a Hollow leering down at him, and Kisuke's never been more aroused in his life.

"Never thought King would let me out ta play," Shirosaki purrs, black-nailed hand planting itself in the middle of Kisuke's chest. The tips of all five fingers drag down lightly, making goosebumps raise in their wake. "Thought I'd hafta make the choice for him." He leans closer, pale skin gleaming in the odd light of Kisuke's bedroom. "Didn't think ya'd make the request."

Kisuke's tongue drags over his lips. "You're a part of Ichigo," he says huskily, raking his gaze over the skin bared for his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be curious?"

Shirosaki laughs, that sexy, raspy laughter that makes Kisuke groan, his insides twisting with arousal. "Curiousity killed th' cat," he taunts, the fingers of his other hand trailing up the inside of Kisuke's thigh, nails pressing down and bringing up reddened lines of irritation. But no blood.

Kisuke strongly suspects that might come later. Oh, he doesn't think Shirosaki will kill him. Or maul him. Or maim him beyond recognition. But he's definitely going to blur the lines between pleasure and pain and Kisuke can't _wait. _

Shivering, Kisuke arches into Shirosaki's touch, as the Hollow's hand nears his aching groin. "But satisfaction brought him back. Or haven't you heard that part?"

One finger swirls over the leaking head of Kisuke's length, swiping up a pearly drop of precome. Kisuke watches, with bated breath and that yellow gaze burning him, as Shirosaki brings his finger to his lips, lasciviously sliding his tongue over the digit and lapping up the single drop.

The Hollow smacks his lips pointedly and Kisuke tugs at his bindings again, this time out of a desperate urge to touch and be touched in return.

"That's unfair," he says, refusing to call it a whine.

Shirosaki laughs, leaning closer until their lips are mere inches apart, his body radiating heat and power, enough that a person could get intoxicated off it. "Kisuke, Kisuke," he says, the name rolling off his tongue in a way that makes Kisuke flush from head to toe. "Hasn't anyone ever told ya that life ain't fair?"

The shopkeeper arches off the floor, desperate for skin on skin contact. "I've heard it before."

"Good," Shirosaki says, and his fingers slide from Kisuke's thigh to grasp his hip, strong enough that Kisuke's sure there will be bruises. "Cause now I'm bout ta show ya."

* * *

a/n: There are plenty more flash fiction to come! I'll try to update sooner!


	182. Flash Fiction Collection 3

a/n: Have some more flash fiction for ya, folks. Please enjoy!**  
**

**Characters/Pairing: Stark/Ichigo  
Prompt: feral  
Words: 390  
Rating: M  
Warning: slash, spoilers, smut**

Ichigo reaches up, absently running fingers over the impression of teeth in his shoulder. Stark hadn't managed to draw blood, but that doesn't mean bruises haven't been left behind. A small shiver works its way through Ichigo's body as he recalls the feeling of Stark's teeth against his skin, the warmth of his mouth, the press of Stark's body.

He shudders.

"Thinking about me again, I see." Arms wrap around Ichigo from behind as he's pulled back against a taller shape, lips pressing to the back of his neck.

He doesn't struggle. "That was your intention, I take it?" Ichigo retorts, fingers still tracing the outline, the impression of canines deeper than all the others.

"In part," Stark replies huskily, his lips tugging on Ichigo's ear as one of his arms slide around Ichigo's body, palm flatting against the Vizard's muscled abdomen.

"What?" Ichigo says, his own voice coming out strained as his heart increases in pace, blood stirring in his veins. "Did you think I'd forget you all of the sudden?"

Stark laughs, his lips traveling lower, mouthing at the curve of Ichigo's jaw as his hand slides into the waistband of Ichigo's jeans, teasingly slow. "Or maybe it was something else. A warning perhaps."

"To who?"

"To the dozen or so loyal followers you have," Stark retorts, cupping Ichigo over the fabric of his boxers, drawing the cotton tight over Ichigo's growing arousal.

Ichigo's brow wrinkles. "I don't have any followers."

"Oh, you don't?" Stark sounds amused, his voice growing huskier as he openly gropes Ichigo. "You never notice all the people who lust after you, do you? And that's why I have to mark my territory."

Ichigo rolls his eyes, a gasp falling from his lips as his hips push into Stark's talented fingers. "Idiot."

"Possessive idiot," Stark corrects, and his mouth latches on Ichigo's shoulder, right next to the mark he had left last night. His tongue flicks out first, as though to soothe, before his teeth quickly following.

Ichigo moans, a shock of arousal bolting through him at the pressure and light pain. He'd hate it if he didn't love it so much, he thinks to himself. But this is the risk he assumes when taking a Hollow for a lover.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Yoruichi, Ichigo, Kisuke  
Prompt: pancakes  
Words: 375  
Rating: T  
Warning: None**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ichigo asks, leaning closer to Urahara-san, unable to take his eyes off the dangerous event taking place right before his eyes.

The shopkeeper chuckles nervously. "She hasn't burned down the kitchen yet," he offers, as though it's going to reassure Ichigo in the slightest.

"I heard that!" Yoruichi-san calls out from the kitchen, the sound of rattling pans and the smell of dough filling the air. "Mr. I Make Toxic Tea."

Ichigo's lips twitch. "She has a point," he says.

"Hmph." Urahara-san almost looks like he's pouting. "I'll have you know my tea is delicious," he calls back, despite the incredulous looks Ichigo is giving him. "You just can't appreciate my artistic expression."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Yoruichi-san snorts, ponytail swinging as she darts between the bowl of batter and the skillet.

Ichigo watches her with growing apprehension. Can he be blamed for being concerned? Yoruichi-san can't do her own laundry. Why should she be able to make pancakes, a delicate art in unto itself?

Urahara-san sits back in his chair with an offended sniff. "You're going to burn them," he warns and Ichigo swears that they bicker like an old, married couple or a pair of siblings.

"No, I didn't," Yoruichi says, with an equally offended sniff of her own as she sashays into the dining room with a plate covered in fluffy disks of pancake goodness. "See?"

And Ichigo has to admit, they look and smell delicious. Whether or not they taste that way, however, remains to be seen. He and Urahara-san exchange mutual looks of apprehension, but they nevertheless pile their plates high and bathe the pancakes in butter and maple syrup.

Yoruichi-san watches them, eyes gleaming triumphantly, as both men take their first bite.

The pancakes are delicious. An opinion that Urahara-san seems to echo when he makes an obscene noise to Ichigo's right.

"Told you," Yoruichi says, and flounces – yes, flounces – out of the room to make more.

"From now on," Ichigo says around a mouthful of fluffy, sweet goodness. "Yoruichi-san makes breakfast."

Urahara-san, syrup smearing his lips, nods. "Agreed."

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Renji/Ishida  
Prompt: unrequited  
Words: 379  
Rating: M  
Warning: spoilers, slash, self-loving, angst**

He hasn't seen the Quincy since their disastrous fight against the eighth Espada. Not since they both went their separate ways – Ishida to help Ichigo and Renji to face off against the tenth Espada with Rukia and Chad. And Renji knows that in all likelihood, with the war over, he'll never see Ishida again.

He can't put into words how much that thought depresses him.

Being around Ichigo had forced him into Ishida's presence, had forced Renji to be around the Quincy. At first, Renji remembers hating the arrogant bastard. He always though he was so smart, so much better than the Shinigami he claimed to hate. And while Renji wanted to respect Ishida for his Quincy abilities, it was hard to do so when the prissy bastard insisted on insulting Renji at every opportunity.

He never would have thought they'd end up fighting together against the eighth Espada. And losing together as well, though that's not the point. Renji knows Ishida hates having to get helped by Kurotsuchi-taichou as much as Renji does. They'd worked well together, better than Renji would have expected.

And how he can't get the Quincy out of his mind. Not the teen's pale skin or blue eyes, or the annoying way he's always pushing up his glasses with one finger to make himself look superior or something stupid like that. Renji can't forget the chilly bite of Ishida's reiatsu, the flash of power from Ginrei Kujaku.

Renji thinks to himself that he'll just push Ishida from his mind. If he throws himself into training, into celebrating the end of Aizen's war, into the proceedings for possible promotion into the fifth division captaincy, he can slowly let Ishida fade from his thoughts.

He tries, but saying is a lot different than doing, and Renji still finds himself laying in his futon, eyes closed and imagining, as his hands works over his cock, releasing his frustrations. It's strange and random, this obsession with a Quincy brat, and Renji can't seem to fight it.

Renji's sure, one day, it's going to drive him mad. But until then, he bites his lip on a groan that's dangerously close to the Quincy's name, and spills over his fingers, resolved to having to wash his bedding yet again.

* * *

a/n: There are plenty more where these came from. Thanks for reading!


	183. Flash Fiction Collection 4

a/n: More flash fiction for your reading pleasure. I'm really slowing down on these drabbles, aren't I? Sorry about that. My interest in Bleach has pretty much vanished. Alas. Time for a new fandom. Still, I've got a few more drabbles that're going to trickle out. I'm going to cap _Seireitei Monogatari _off at 200, I'm thinking. So you have at least seventeen more to come!**  
**

**Characters/Pairing: UraharaxIchigo**

**Prompt: "Hands All Over," Maroon 5**

**Words: 415**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: slash, smut, spoilers**

_Kisuke was doing this on purpose_, Ichigo thought, frustrated. The headboard above him rattled as his wrists jerked against his bindings and the wood they were wrapped around. He wanted to touch, to have freedom of movement, but it was impossible in his current state.

Kisuke chuckled, his warm hands sliding from the outside of Ichigo's bare thighs to cup his hips. His thumbs traced circles around Ichigo's hipbones, his mouth a warm brush of air across Ichigo's abdomen.

"Frustrated, my dear?" he asked, voice twisted with mischief and the same dancing in his grey eyes. He was far too amused with himself.

Ichigo twisted his jaw, growling low in his throat. "When I said you could tie me up, I didn't know you were only going to tease me," he said, and jerked his wrists against the ties again.

Those hands slid up again, smoothing over his sides, tickling at his ribs, fingers splayed over his muscled abdomen. Ichigo felt goosebumps rise in their wake. He was hot, his skin on fire, but there was something about the slow, sensual glide of Kisuke's hands that made him shiver, made his cock throb with denied release.

"There is a certain pleasure to be found in simple touching," Kisuke said, using that same, teaching tone he tended to adopt when explaining some simple Shinigami concept that flew over Ichigo's head.

"For you or for me?" Ichigo demanded, head falling back against the pillow as Kisuke's hands inched close to his groin and then wandered away again, one tickling the back of his left knee and the other rubbing up the center of his chest.

Breath ghosted across Ichigo's hipbone and grey eyes looked up at him, dark with sensual desire. "We'll both be satisfied by the end," he said, voice thick with promise.

Ichigo groaned, hands sliding over his skin, smoothing around the slight curve of his hip, brushing teasingly over his nipples and making him arch into the touch. "You're evil," he accused, on the edge of a gasp, knowing that begging would get him nowhere.

Kisuke chuckled. "Only a little," he said, which only proved Ichigo's point. There was no escaping, no cajoling, no begging for a reprieve. Kisuke would only let Ichigo come when he was good and ready to which could be hours from now or in the next ten minutes.

Ichigo had no choice but to wait and writhe, trapped under Kisuke's sinful hands.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Stark/Ichigo**

**Prompt: promotion**

**Words: 364**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: kisses between men, light spoilers**

His hands smoothed down the fall of the haori, one shifting to adjust the tie of his obi. The haori fell perfectly over his shoulders, as though custom made to do just that. It was long-sleeved as he'd requested, and there was something about the whiteness of it in contrast to the black of his shihakushou that was rather appealing.

Stark looked into the mirror, admired his change in appearance, and felt the eyes behind him, doing much the same.

"It suits you," his lover said, voice low and husky… admiring. "Better than it would suit me anyway."

Chuckling, Stark tugged at his sleeves, which hung just below his wrist and then turned to the side, his zanpakutou barely visible beneath the fall of the robe. "I think you underestimate yourself."

"Do I?"

Stark turned around completely, catching sight of Ichigo where he sat in a chair, looking amused as Stark fidgeted with his new outfit. "I'm pretty sure the next one they hand out will be for you."

Ichigo rolled his eyes, propping his chin on his knuckles. "They can try. Doesn't mean I want the responsibility."

Licking his lips, Stark abandoned his fidgeting and swiftly crossed the room, leaning forward to place his hands on the arms of the chair and box Ichigo between them. "Why not? I think you'd make a fine taichou."

Brown eyes looked at him, darker in their desire. "What? I'm no good as a mere substitute?"

"There's nothing _mere_ about you," Stark said, and before Ichigo could say anything else, he leaned forward and captured the Vizard's lips.

One hand came up, fisting in the collar of Stark's shihakushou and wrinkling the carefully arranged fabric. But when a deft, slick tongue pushed into his mouth tasting of chocolate and oranges, Stark found he couldn't care less. Sure he was about to be announced to the rest of the Gotei-13 as the new captain of the ninth division and his appearance was supposed to be pristine.

Considering the circumstances, he couldn't expect to be wrinkle free. And if anyone disapproved, well, obviously they'd never been kissed by Kurosaki Ichigo.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Renji/Ishida**

**Prompt: studying**

**Words: 403**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: slight slash**

"What'cha readin'?"

"A book," Uryuu replied dully, pulling said book closer to his face as though it would block out the stream of chatter from behind him.

The bed creaked as its occupant rose to his feet and padded quietly across the floor, coming up right behind Uryuu and peering over his shoulder. "What kind of book?"

"The kind that requires studying," Uryuu retorted, and redoubled his efforts to study. This was a very complicated class. If he memorized anything incorrectly than there was a good chance the first building he designed would come crashing down on his head.

Renji leaned against the back of the chair, the solid warmth of his chest pressing against Uryuu's upper back. His chin settled on Uryuu's hair, not roughly but with increasingly noticeable pressure. "It looks borin'."

"Maybe for you," Uryuu said, and pointedly turned a page, even though he couldn't remember anything from the previous one. Perhaps this was the reason his father forbade him to have contact with Shinigami. They were infuriatingly distracting.

Renji's chin dug into Uryuu's skull before he shifted his head near even with Uryuu's, and warm breath ghosted across Uryuu's ear. "Nah. You don't seem too interested either."

His grip on the book tightened as Uryuu fought the shiver. "I wonder why," he said dryly, reaching up to adjust his glasses before focusing again on the textbook. "It can't possibly be because you won't stop talking."

Renji chuckled, his deep voice echoing in Uryuu's ears and echoing much lower in his body all at the same time. Uryuu's stomach tightened, body filling with heat. "I come all th' way from Soul Society and this is th' greetin' I get?" Renji asked, his hair tickling the back of Uryuu's neck. "Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"I've got an exam tomorrow," Uryuu retorted, but his book found itself lowering to the desk top anyway, seemingly without his permission.

Another heat-provoking chuckle filled the room, adding a sly tongue that nipped out against Uryuu's ear where Renji knew him to be sensitive. "Guess I'd better leave you alone then," he said, making a noticeable effort to draw back.

Uryuu's hand shot backward, fisting in loose crimson hair. "Don't you dare," he growled. If the damn Shinigami was going to start something, he was damn well going to finish it.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Aizen/Shirosaki**

**Prompt: biting**

**Words: 348**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: slash, slight kink, male/male smut**

"King might not be, but I'm perty good wit my mouth," Shirosaki said, his voice like a Hollow purr that echoed in Sousuke's bedchamber.

"Is that your final offer?" Sousuke asked, interested despite himself. Fascinating that one side of his adversary might hate his guts, but the other side showed a distinct sexual interest.

Very, very fascinating.

"Depends on what I get in return," Shirosaki said, crawling onto the bed, fingers already plucking at Sousuke's clothing.

Sousuke inclined his head. "That depends on what you want. And how well you convince me," he said, and spread his hands, as though giving Shirosaki free rein. "But no biting."

Shirosaki grinned with a raspy, Hollow's chuckle. "Aw, come on, boss. Ya take all the fun outta things."

Sousuke bit back a grimace, coiling his fingers in white hair. "I'm rather fond of my anatomy."

"Aren't we all?' Shirosaki stared at him, golden eyes dark and dangerous, as he lowered his head an inch, warm breath ghosting over Sousuke's eager cock, which seemed unfazed by the threat of those white, white teeth.

Any one would else would probably be terrified at the moment. Sousuke, however, felt only a mild agitation, one that echoed in the throb of his groin. A sense of eager anticipation, his fingers pressing against Shirosaki's scalp in flagrant encouragement.

"I'll be even more fond if you'd get started," Sousuke said, the wet breath teasing him with possibilities.

Shirosaki's response was to bite him on the inner thigh, a short, sharp nip with his teeth that made Sousuke startle and heat flash through his entire body. Shirosaki laughed.

"Thought ya didn't like biting?" the Hollow asked, his tongue sliding lasciviously over his lips, taunting Sousuke with what he could be doing and not what he was actually doing.

Sousuke opened his mouth, fully intending to respond with some acerbic, witty retort, until Shirosaki chose that moment to wrap his lips around Sousuke's cock and short circuit the overlord's brain. After that, Sousuke wasn't really thinking of much else.

* * *

a/n: I do hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!


	184. Flash Fiction Collection 5

a/n: More flash fiction to fill in the spaces. I do hope you enjoy!**  
**

**Characters/Pairing: Tatsuki/Soifon**

**Prompt: infinite**

**Words: 421**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: light yuri, spoilers**

It was not unlike taming a tiger, Tatsuki remarked to herself. A thought taken with much amusement as she perched on the ground, legs stretched out over green grass, and watched her lover flip and twist through the air in practice.

Soifon had been wary at first, Tatsuki remembered. Though wary for anyone else would mean cautious eyes and slow movements and a tendency to heavily think over any action. For Soifon, wary was sharp words, bitter insults, and the tendency toward violence if startled without good explanation. But Tatsuki wasn't so easily defeated, and so she pursued with the dogged determination of a lion on the hunt.

Catching her prey had been no easy feat. However, Tatsuki had always liked a bit of a challenge, and no one could argue that wooing Soifon was painless. In fact, she still had a few bruises on her arm and side to prove that it wasn't painless at all. But also… very, very worth it.

Tatsuki grinned, watching as Soifon completed her routine and turned Tatsuki's direction, finally acknowledging her presence.

"What is that smile for?" Soifon demanded, instantly suspicious as she strode across the grass. Her brown eyes were narrowed, even as she flicked the back of her wrist over her forehead, flinging away the sweat that had gathered.

Tatsuki's smile broadened as she rose to her feet, brushing bits of grass from her pants. "Nothing bad," she said. "I promise."

Soifon sniffed as though greatly offended, shoulders straight and back, and if Tatsuki didn't know any better, she'd think Soifon was one of those high-brow nobles like Ichigo's boyfriend. But Tatsuki did know better, and knew that it was all part of Soifon's front, her mantle of pride and strength.

"Are you going to stare all day or actually get some use out of this practice?" Soifon demanded, eyes flicking up and down Tatsuki as though measuring her physical prowess and dismissing it all at once.

Tatsuki rolled her shoulders, hearing bone crackle and pop challengingly, never once losing her grin as she came within an arms length of Soifon. "What's in it for me?"

Confusion warred with frustration on Soifon's face. Obviously, she was still new to this whole relationship and dating business. Which was okay, Tatsuki had always been a very good teacher when given a good enough incentive.

And judging by that blush creeping over Soifon's cheeks – a sudden realization of what Tatsuki meant – the incentive here was very good indeed.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Stark/Shuuhei**

**Prompt: forest**

**Words: 439**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: spoilers, sex between men **

He hit the trunk roughly, back scraping from the bark, even through the fabric of his shihakushou. A strangled sound caught itself in Shuuhei's throat, but it was quickly swallowed by the mouth that roughly covered his, tongue pushing past his lips, tasting of hazelnut and bitter fruit. Not unpleasant, but definitely different.

Shuuhei moaned, one hand shooting out to bury itself in brown hair, the other gripping to the white of his lover's clothing. So white, so opposite to the black of the Shinigami. But Shuuhei wanted it that way. Completely different and opposite and everything that wasn't familiar and tested and _betrayed. _

It was cold here. Tall trees with menacing limbs and rustling leaves that blotted out the moon and stars until it was almost black, but Shuuhei didn't mind. With Stark pressed against him, Shuuhei didn't even feel the cold, not with the heat the Espada radiated.

Strange thing that, a Hollow emitting so much heat. Stark felt so alive under Shuuhei's fingers, skin warm and supple, muscles lithe and toned.

And the hand that untucked Shuuhei's shitagi and splayed across his abdomen was warm, even more so when it inched upward to brush teasingly over a nipple. Only to grab and wrench it sharply, producing a twist of pain that shot straight to Shuuhei's groin. He cried out against the mouth covering his, arching against Stark, trapped between the Espada and the unyielding pine.

Stark chuckled, deep and masculine, his eyes like obsidian when there was little light to reflect their true shade. "I knew it," he said, a tease rather, as he nipped at Shuuhei's chin. "You like it a little rough, don't you, _Shinigami_."

Shuuhei's fingers tightened in Stark's hair, tight enough to pull sharply at the scalp and draw Stark's head back an inch or so. "Just as much as you, _Hollow_," Shuuhei retorted, baring his teeth in a challenging smile.

Anyone from the outside, watching, would think they were strangers. Enemies who had turned the passion of battle into passion of another kind. They would never suspect that this encounter was only one of several, each anticipated more than the last. Necessary and wanted.

Stark's eyes flashed, dark with promise and seduction. His free hand slid down, palm cupping Shuuhei's cock through the thickness of his hakama. "It's very true, how alike we are," he all but purred, and leaned in, teeth scraping along Shuuhei's jaw before he spoke right into Shuuhei's ear. "So you'll indulge me, yes?"

Shuuhei shivered, bucking into those skilled fingers, a motion that answered just as good as any words. _Yes_.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: AizenxIchigo**

**Prompt: "I have a bulletproof heart, you have a hollowpoint smile." **

**Words: 371**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: spoilers, AU**

The smell on the wind is ash and death, it clogs in his lungs and rattles through the air with the vibrant force of one hundred Shinigami. He can feel the impending clash in the air, the way the atmosphere quivers with anticipation.

Sousuke smiles because he bears it all with little trouble, hand casual and relaxed around Kyouka Suigetsu's hilt. To him, the air tastes of victory. A citrus tang and a sweet aroma and the caress of warm hands and the familiar presence of victory at his side.

Soul Society is so very foolish, has always been, and Sousuke is glad to pick up their pieces, glad to take their cast-off refuse and polish it to diamond. To something rarer and richer and far, far more valuable. He feels as if he has been waiting his whole life for their mistakes to culminate into something irreparable.

Now, this very moment, Sousuke believes he's found that victory.

No. Sousuke _knows_ he has acquired it. He's certain, without the smallest inch of disbelief. His reiatsu is a calm ocean within him, tide in and out, brimming with satisfaction.

He's done it, he's won, and gained the greatest treasure in the process.

Sousuke can't wait to see Yamamoto weep, to fall to his knees, his fire nothing more than cinders and ash. He waits to watch Kuchiki bow before him, humbled despite his pride. Others will follow, bowing and scraping, begging for the smallest crumb of mercy. Which Sousuke will provide, of course, he considers himself a gracious leader, one who knows the value of things.

"Is it time?"

Sousuke looks at Kurosaki Ichigo standing beside him, resplendent in white, his eyes burning with a fury all his own. White really does suit Ichigo, in much the way that his maturity does as well.

Once, the both of them had been imprisoned by actions all their own. Once, Sousuke had been Soul Society's prisoner and Ichigo had waded through the Living World.

Now, they would be Soul Society's rue.

Sousuke smiles, resisting the urge to kiss his lover here and now – that sort of celebration can be saved until _after_ they bring Yamamoto to his knees. "Make them weep."

* * *

a/n: More flash fiction to come. I'm finishing up these drabbles at number two-hundred. The end is in sight!

Feedback is welcome and appreciated.


	185. Flash Fiction Collection 6

a/n: Drabble 190 will bring us back to our regularly scheduled drabbles, but until then, enjoy another collection of flash fiction. Beware the porn!**  
**

**Characters/Pairing: IchigoxUrahara  
Prompt: protect and destroy  
Words: 367  
Rating: T  
Warnings: language, spoilers, some war-time violence**

_Kill. _

That's the only thing on his mind right now, the only truth that can possibly assuage the burning fury inside of him.

The battlefield is a mess of blood and bodies, ash and rubble, broken zanpakutou and ground up dreams. The stench coats Kisuke's nostrils and sits heavy on his tongue, adding fuel to the blaze.

For once, his grip on Benihime isn't slick with sweat, but firm and unyielding. She hums in his hold, singing for blood. There is an edge of sadness and sorrow to her trill, one that Kisuke knows all too well because it echoes inside of him as well. An unending echo that falls forever into the deep bit of blackness.

That bastard, that _Aizen_, did the one thing Kisuke can never forgive.

Even the events of decades past, where Aizen had forced Kisuke into exile and turned their friends into Vizard and ruined Kisuke's life, is more tolerable than this.

If there was one person in this whole damn war who carried no blame, who was innocent, if was Kurosaki Yuzu.

If there was one person Aizen should not have touched if he had a smidge of honor left inside of him, it was Kurosaki Karin.

For this reason alone, Kisuke is not alone in this hunt.

Ichigo is beside him, wrapped in a mantle of cold fury that would make his father proud, his eyes gleaming an eerie amber and gold that would make anyone shiver. Kisuke, however, only feels a stirring of arousal, right in his gut, coiling with the anger until his emotions are a confused tangle.

Kisuke imagines the way they'll celebrate later, after they've destroyed the monster and sent him on to fiery torment. Locked in a room with their box of toys, working out the last of the anger in the best way possible. He imagines the way Ichigo will look, sweaty and debauched, and the way Kisuke will feel, completely overtaken, ruthlessly devoured.

He won't have it any other way.

Zangetsu pulses in Ichigo's hand, a call of comradeship to Benihime, who sings in return. The battle is nigh.

Kisuke feels a sick, bloodthirsty grin curl his lips. Time to kill the beast.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: Komamura+Gin  
Prompt: cheerful  
Words: 412  
Rating: T  
Warnings: hints to kink, language**

Sajin stared.

Ichimaru stared right back, without blinking in that eerie way of his.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Sajin barked, moments later, when he realized Ichimaru wasn't going to speak first. "Here" being a very exclusive, very limited club that was supposed to be circumspect in the members it allowed. If Ichimaru was here, it obviously wasn't exclusive enough.

Ichimaru's mouth opened and closed, for once immediately speechless. Then he stirred, like a statue come to life. "The same thing as ya, obviously," he chirped.

Sajin bristled, straightening further, knowing it made him intimidating with the effect of the dim lights in the club on his helmet. He'd only just arrived and hadn't had time to take it off as he usually would. He'd seen Ichimaru first, all but prancing around in a unique outfit that Sajin couldn't deny fitted the skinny man well.

"Not for the same thing," he growled, gesturing to the fuzzy and obviously fake fox ears that had been placed on Ichimaru's head, the same color as his naturally silver hair.

Ichimaru's grin widened and he leaned closer, as though wanting to peer through the eyeslits to see what Sajin had beneath. "Oh? And why not? Whatcha got under that pretty helmet, hmm?"

Sajin stiffened. Past lessons had taught Sajin that it was better to keep his helmet on... except when here. Here where Ichimaru was as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

He cocked his head, considering, hands already half-lifted to his helmet. Sajin had never considered himself a coward. And if he couldn't be himself _here_, a place he had always thought to be a haven, then what in Seireitei would he do?

Ichimaru was still looking at him expectantly, neither pushing nor demanding, this show of patience a first for him. So Sajin drew a breath, lifted the helmet, and tucked it under his arm. He stared defiantly at Ichimaru, waiting for the man to mock him, to violate the unspoken rules of the club and get tossed out on his pale, skinny ass.

Ichimaru's smile lifted in a way that seemed genuine as his gaze smoldered with... appreciation. "Ah," he murmured and drew closer, palm pressing to Sajin's chest in a blatantly sexual move. "I like what I see, Koma-chan."

Sajin's eyes widened, and a rumbling growl echoed in his throat. What an... interesting development to say the least. Very interesting indeed.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: AizenxIchigo  
Prompt: "Howl," Florence and the Machine  
Words: 441  
Rating: M  
Warnings: mild kink, sex between men**

Ichigo hisses, and the chains rattle, but he knows better than to think that they might loosen or break. Sousuke has made them too strong for this, and even their attachment to the ceiling isn't so weak. The wood may groan and creak, but it holds fast now as it has in the past few years.

Sousuke chuckles behind him, and if Ichigo's eyes weren't covered by a blind fold, he'd turn and look. But all he can do is anticipate and wonder, his every other sense aware tenfold. His skin prickles, anticipating the next touch, and he jerks when fingers tickle down his sides, palms tracing the line of his ribs sensually.

"You are most beautiful in your desperation," Sousuke murmurs, moving closer, until his breath is a warm puff against Ichigo's nape.

He shivers, sucking in a breath, fingers curling inward. He knows better than to move, to shift in any direction, or Sousuke might prolong the torture and they'll be no relief for the aching in Ichigo's groin. So the knot in his belly coils tighter and tighter, sweat a delicate trickle down the middle of his back.

"Do you plan to drive me to madness?" Ichigo says, his voice barely louder than a whisper, broken on the edge of a gasp when Sousuke presses against him from behind, all warm skin and warm hands and the hard line of Sousuke's cock nestled against Ichigo's buttocks.

One arm curls around Ichigo, palm splaying flat against his abdomen. The other tickles lower, finger-walking down Ichigo's belly, until Sousuke curls a teasing touch around Ichigo's cock.

He forces himself to tense every muscle in his body in order not to move, no matter how desperately he wants to thrust forward.

"Madness would be counterproductive," Sousuke purrs, nibbling on Ichigo's lobe with quick darts of his tongue and teeth.

A sound grows in Ichigo's throat, one he refuses to name a whine. "Then you'd better do something soon," he retorts as Sousuke's fingers stroke him gently, teasing at the head of his cock where he is leaking copious amounts of precome. "Or I _will _break these chains."

Sousuke chuckles again, a dark and sinful sound that tiptoes down Ichigo's spine and makes the arousal burst even brighter. "I will enjoy watching you try," he says, and Ichigo feels his mouth lower, teeth and tongue latching on the back of Ichigo's shoulder. It is a small flash of pain, intertwining with the bolt of pleasure that races through Ichigo.

Sousuke hums in approval and Ichigo knows it's going to be a hell of a long night.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: TatsukixSoifon  
Prompt: mistletoe  
Words: 459  
Rating: M  
Warnings: kisses between women, groping, language**

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Arisawa?" Soifon growled, performing a tug that was token at best. It didn't even have any real strength behind it.

Tatsuki grinned, tightening her fingers around Soifon's wrist and continuing to drag the uncooperative Shinigami behind her. "Trying to show you how to have some fun, lover."

Soifon's scowl deepened. Tatsuki laughed and paid more attention to her surroundings before she ended up bulldozing someone. There was music. There was food. There was laughter and dancing and decorations. There were all kinds of things like fun that Soifon would find time-consuming, pointless, and full of stupid.

Tatsuki, of course, was having the time of her life. More because she had convinced Soifon to come with her and had plans to convince Soifon to stay.

And well, it was nice to see Soifon in something _other_ than her Shinigami captain's uniform. The shihakushou was sexy, but there was something to be said about the dress she wore now, with its low, open back and a flared out skirt swishing around beautifully toned thighs. Tatsuki could feel herself drooling even now, and had to beat down inappropriate thoughts of pulling Soifon into the nearest closet and sliding her fingers up those creamy thighs, underneath the fabric of Soifon's skirt just to see how wet she was.

_Yum_.

Tatsuki scanned the crowd and decorations. Ichigo caught her eyes from across the room and lifted his glass to her, but didn't wait for her acknowledgment, too busy trying to encourage his own stick in the mud to live a little. Kuchiki Byakuya was a hot piece of work, but he was a little too stuck up for Tatsuki's taste. She liked 'em feisty.

"Arisawa, if you don't explain to me what you are doing right now-" The threat in Soifon's tone was clearcut but Tatsuki cheerfully tuned it out as she laid eyes on her prize and gamely dragged Soifon over to the entryway between the den and the kitchen.

She pulled Soifon to a stop there, whirling suddenly to yank the surprised Shinigami into her arms. "You mean it's not obvious?" Tatsuki asked, gesturing for Soifon to look up with a tilt of her head.

Soifon's cheeks flushed darker as she lifted her eyes and caught sight of the sprig of mistletoe on the frame above them. "This is a ridiculous and trite tradition that-"

Tatsuki slanted her mouth over Soifon's, cutting the Shinigami off mid-tirade, and swallowing the sound of Soifon's surprise. Soifon always did talk too much. And if the crowd broke into cheers and whistles, Tatsuki promised she'd grin and salute them later. But for now, she had a lover to kiss senseless.

* * *

a/n: More ficcage to come as always. I do hope you enjoyed!


	186. Flash Fiction Collection 7

**a/n: Another collection of short drabbles to tide things over while I brainstorm ideas for something larger. Please enjoy.**

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** KenseixShuuheixKisuke  
Prompt:**** oblivion  
Words:**** 424  
Rating: ****M  
Warnings: ****threesome**** smut,**** sex ****between ****men**

Kisuke laughs, cupping Kensei's head and dragging the other man down for a brutal kiss, one that tastes sweet like sake and salty like the peanuts at the bar. Kensei growls into the kiss, hovering over Kisuke like a predator waiting to pounce, his earrings gleaming in the half light. A warm body presses against Kisuke from behind, hands roaming to Kisuke's belt and fumbling at it.

They're all a little drunk, but that's not stopped them before, Kisuke muses to himself. He can hear Hisagi's heavy breathing, can feel it as the younger Shinigami nuzzles against Kisuke from behind, just as hungry and desperate as the rest of them. A young man's desire is such a heady thing.

Kensei quickly takes control of the kiss, ruthlessly swiping his tongue inside Kisuke's mouth as though determined to claim every inch of him. He explores cheek and teeth and the roof of his mouth, each touch a flitting swipe of his tongue that makes Kisuke moan and grind against Shuuhei's fumbling fingers.

Shuuhei makes a noise, a sound of frustration, and Kisuke takes pity on him, loosening his hold on Kensei to help Shuuhei. Kensei takes this opportunity to reach past Kisuke, fisting his fingers in strands of black hair and jerking Shuuhei toward him for another possessive kiss. In the midst of unbuttoning his pants, Kisuke freezes, watching with bated breath as the two men kiss. It has always been one of the most erotic things Kisuke has ever seen. Now is no exception.

Kisuke jerks open his belt and slides open his button and zipper, hastily pushing his pants to his knees. He's all for getting naked in a hurry, and reaches for Kensei's pants, quickly doing the same. His eyes, however, never leave the arousing sight of Kensei and Shuuhei kissing, the latter's cheeks darkening in an aroused blush visible in the half-light. Within moments, Kisuke wraps fingers around Kensei's rigid length, drawing a long stroke down the heated cock.

Kensei breaks off the kiss with a dark look in his eyes, hips bucking forward into Kisuke's touch. His body trembles, like a large, restrained beast.

"What say you we get this party started, shall we?" Kisuke purrs.

Teeth nip at his ears. "I'm for that," Shuuhei responds, pressing against Kisuke with seductive intent, emboldened by the sake stirring his veins.

Kensei drops a possessive hand to Kisuke's hip, squeezing pointedly. His actions need no words, and Kisuke shivers with anticipation. This is one night none of them will regret.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** RenjixOrihime  
Prompt:**** "****Stutter****" ****  
Words: ****479  
Rating:**** M  
Warnings:**** het****sex,**** nudity,**** language**

She's teasing him, Renji's sure of it. There's a glint in her eyes, a smooth smile on her lips, and he loves the way she nibbles on the lower lip, like she can't decide if she's nervous or excited. Auburn hair spills over her shoulders, not bare, not just yet, but slowly getting that way.

He watches, breathing shallow, fingers scraping the bedspread as he props himself on his elbows. He hasn't moved since she pushed him down, knees stumbling against the bed behind him and sending him tumbling. He's still dressed, too, and he can feel his cock poking at his jeans, a visible lump beneath the thick fabric.

Her heels are gone, and Renji watches with hungry eyes as her fingers flick through the buttons on her shirt, revealing pale skin beneath and the lacy pink of her bra. Her breasts are mounds of creamy flesh perfectly outlined by the bra and Renji tightens his grip on the comforter.

He wants to tell her to go faster, but there's something alluring about the slow pace as well. Especially when she flicks open the last button and twitches her shoulders, throwing her arms back so that the shirt slides down her arms to the floor. The motion presses her breasts forward in an erotic wave of motion and a small sound curls in the back of Renji's throat. He refuses to call it a whimper.

She's still grinning, eyes full of humorous light, and she turns, fingers curling in the waistband of her short skirt. It's made of a stretchy cotton fabric that perfectly outlines her rump, and he watches, mouth dry, as she slides it down ever so slowly, skirt inching down her flesh. She bends over, just a bit, and Renji feels a warm throb pulse through his groin. He fights back the urge to attack. This is Orihime's show. The one she's putting on him. He's only supposed to obey.

The skirt slithers to the floor, leaving behind a pair of panties that are the same lacy pink as her bra when she turns around. His dry mouth turns wet as he thinks about licking her.

She reaches for her bra, fingers teasing at the clasp as her other hand drags her fingers across the mound of her breasts. She's breathing sharper now, and the act makes her bosom heave rhythmically as though trying to hypnotize Renji.

She licks her lips, teasing at the clasp of her bra with her fingers. "Well, Renji-kun. Do you like what you see?"

He opens his mouth, knowing that he should say something to encourage her. "I.. I.." But all that he manages is a lame stutter that would make him embarrassed, if he wasn't aroused enough to drill a hole in brick.

Orihime laughs, reaches for Renji, and the last thing on his mind is embarrassment.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: ****KyourakuxStark  
Prompt:**** None****  
Words:**** 372  
Rating: ****T  
Warnings:**** kiss**** between ****men,**** language**

"Ouch."

Stark rolled his eyes, slapping a bandage over the minor wound on the back of Kyouraku's shoulder. "You infant. That couldn't possibly have hurt."

He knew, without looking, that Kyouraku was grinning. "It stung," he retorted, and reached for the nearby table, where a bottle of sake was waiting for him, as though mocking him with its distance.

Stark reached down and swapped Kyouraku's hand away. "It did not," he said. "And none of that for you either. It was sake that got you into this mess."

"This mess" being the current rash of scrapes, bruises and cuts that scattered across Kyouraku's back and shoulders from where he'd taken a tumble down a set of stairs after tripping over the loose ends of his pink haori. It had been quite undignified and Kyouraku was still huffy because Stark had laughed for a good ten minutes – after wisely rushing to check and make sure Kyouraku hadn't unduly damaged himself in the fall.

Kyouraku sniffed. "I am an experienced drinker. That tumble had nothing to do with the one-"

"Try four."

"-four bottles I may or may not have consumed in the few hours prior."

Despite himself, Stark allowed the smile on his lips. He wasn't angry or irritated, not really, besides, he considered heaps of stinging antiseptic punishment enough. "Yes, yes. Your alcoholism is well-documented," he said, and slapped on the last bandage. "Done."

"Is that so?"

Stark turned with the intention of gathering up all the medical supplies. "You're no longer bleeding all over my quarters, if that's what you mean."

Kyouraku chuckled with a humorous tone that never boded well for Stark's sanity. "Good," he said, and moved so quickly that Stark was still impressed with the Shinigami's speed.

But then – he reminded himself dryly as the bottle and bandages tumbled to the floor – Kyouraku was at the top of the pack when it came to skills. Both in war and in love, which Kyouraku set to prove when he bent Stark backward and kissed the daylights out of him. _Not __an __altogether __terrible __reward_, Stark thought. Not bad at all.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: ****Ichigo/Uryuu  
Prompt: ****happy/fluffy  
Words:**** 391  
Rating:**** K+  
Warnings: ****light ****language,**** hints ****to ****a ****slashy ****relationship**

Ichigo grumbles under his breath, cursing Uryuu's good luck and his own dismal luck as of late. Of course he had to lose the bet. Of course he had to pick the wrong team.

Of course he is now out here in temperatures cold enough to threaten snow with a rake in his hand and a growing pile of leaves that still need to be bagged.

"You're doing a great job," Uryuu calls out from the open window, warm and snug inside the house with a cup of tea in his fingers.

Ichigo grits his teeth, growls in his throat, and promptly ignores the smug Quincy. He rakes a little harder, a little faster. He's almost done and all that'll be left is bagging up the leafy remains.

"I think you missed a spot though," Uryuu adds with smug satisfaction, a hint of mockery in his tone. He sips noisily at his tea.

Ichigo resists the urge to throw down his rake. "If you wanted it done right, then come out here and do it yourself," he snarls with an irritated pulse of his reaitsu.

Uryuu chuckles, a broad grin on his lips. He's deriving far too much enjoyment from Ichigo's suffering. "Why should I when I have you to do it for me?"

Leaves fly into the air as Ichigo jerks the rake too hard. He's muttering under his breath now, vile curses the Quincy's direction that he knows Uryuu can't hear. He swears that Uryuu must have cheated somehow.

"You could rake a little faster, you know," Uryuu adds, rich with humor, making another noisy sip of his delicious tea.

Ichigo reaches for the first clear plastic bag, shoving in a massive handful of dead, damp leaves. The musky scent of decaying vegetation isn't entirely unpleasant, but it's still too damn cold to be out here doing this. His nose feels like it's going to fall off and his breath is coming out bright bursts of grey.

"Because the faster you get done, the faster I can warm you up."

Ichigo freezes, mid-motion, whirling around to stare in the direction of the window. Uryuu, however, has departed with that enigmatic comment, closing the window and drawing the curtain behind him.

Did he just...?

A grin splits Ichigo's lips. He rakes a lot faster.

* * *

a/n: Still more ficcage to come. I'll try to update faster with that fic I do have available.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	187. Flash Fiction Collection 8

**Characters/Pairing:**** GinxKiraxRangiku  
Prompt:**** "****The**** Ghost ****in**** You****"****  
Rating:**** M  
Warning:****spoilers,**** slash,**** het, ****smut**

When he kisses her, she tastes of sake and sweets. She moans into his mouth, her fingers soft and sure as they walk over his skin, pressing them closer together. They move together in a familiar rhythm, one that seems to be missing half the beats, but Izuru steadfastly ignores that and deepens the kiss.

Rangiku is warm and soft in all the right places. She knows just how to touch him, just how to make him squirm and ignite a fire deep in his belly. He loves to card his fingers through her hair, let the silky strands slide through his fingers. He loves to watch her eyes darken with lust when he kisses down her abdomen, peppering his mouth over her breasts and stomach, tonguing her belly button. That always makes her squirm, sometimes laugh.

He likes to hear her laugh. Kami knows they haven't done enough of that lately.

His hand slides along her thigh and Rangiku lets him slide against her, sliding deep inside of her in one slick thrust that makes them both moan. She clutches at him, her slim fingers and nails digging into his back, her legs wrapping around his waist. Izuru gasps into her throat, licking up the smooth column, tasting sweat while surrounded by the subtle perfume she always wears.

He doesn't move, just throbs inside of her, and it takes a moment for Izuru to realize just what he's waiting for: another hand to join the fray. He's anticipating, hoping, waiting for those elegant fingers to drag down his back, for a slimmer, warm body to press against him from behind, to circle long arms around both Izuru and Rangiku in a firm embrace.

That touch never comes, it can't come, not anymore, and Izuru plants an apologetic kiss on Rangiku's collarbone. She makes a noise, a rumble of understanding in her throat, and Izuru starts to move, long and gentle thrusts that build the fire between them into a low, hungry flame. Her nails drag down his back, light scores that seem desperate to replace the missing sensation of long, caressing fingers.

They saw nothing more than allowing quiet gasps and moans, both acutely aware of the missing presence, the missing factor that adds an element of off-rhythm to their movements. But even that unease doesn't prevent their bodies from responding, from Rangiku clenching around him and Izuru coming with a shudder that travels from head to toe in waves of dizzying pleasure.

Izuru collapses in her arms, in a sticky, sweaty tangle. He can hear her heatbeat beneath his ears as he hooks one arm around her waist, drawing her tightly against him. And he waits, always waits, for the arm to throw itself over the both of them and the heat to lie against Izuru's exposed back.

Izuru waits a long time for something that's not going to come, Gin's absence presence here more startling than the empty captain's seat in the third division.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:****GinxKisuke  
Prompt:**** backstabber  
Rating:**** M  
Warning:**** spoilers,**** slash, ****language,**** prelude ****to**** smut**

"Do you regret it?"

Gin's fingers pause in the midst of tracing circles on Kisuke's back, an action which makes the shopkeeper growl in annoyance. "Regret what?" Gin asks.

Kisuke, head pillowed on arms folded under him, hums low in his throat. "Betraying Aizen." His voice sounds conversational, but Gin knows better than that, knows _Kisuke_ better than that. There's something deeper here.

His fingers drag down Kisuke's back, tracing the line of his spine, before he leans over and presses a kiss to the back of Kisuke's shoulder, where a bite mark from earlier lingers. "Is it a betrayal if ya were never loyal in the first place?"

Kisuke chuckles, a small shiver racking his body as Gin's fingers dip lower, across the curve of his back and heading toward the left of his buttocks. "Good point."

Gin's lips trace a scar, an old sword wound that's become pale and thin over the years. "Ya believed it though. Didn't ya?"

"What?"

"That I was a traitor."

Kisuke is quiet for a moment, and Gin's fingers continue to roam over skin that's both warm and soft, only slighter darker than his own. He traces the curve of Kisuke's buttocks, dragging a finger down the crease and teasing Kisuke's entrance.

He watches as Kisuke's hands clench and unclench against the covers, a sure sign of his building arousal. "You were just a kid," Kisuke finally says.

"I was an adult where it matters," Gin reminds him, letting his fingers rest on the ring of muscle, tracing the twitching pucker and causing Kisuke to push toward the faint touch.

Kisuke makes a sound of disgust in his throat. "And that's where Aizen and I differ." He turns his head, gray-green eyes dark with arousal and fiery with something else. "I'm glad you ripped his heart out."

Gin chuckles and leans in, close enough that his breath puffs over Kisuke's lips. "My aren't we a bloodthirsty one?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Kisuke says wickedly. "So you better make good on your teasing and fuck me senseless." He punctuates his demand with a wet, biting kiss that makes Gin's body throb, a demand that he doesn't mind obeying one bit.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:****Aizen,**** Ukitake,**** Shunsui  
Prompt:**** pre-The**** Beautiful ****Lie  
Rating:**** T  
Warning:**** hints ****of ****abuse,**** language**

Shunsui, insides twisting and heart hammering in his chest, chews on his bottom lip and chooses his words carefully. "How did you say this happened?" he asks, softly and without accusing, knowing that the wrong inflection, the wrong hint of disbelief will send Sousuke scurrying away from him before Shunsui can so much as help.

Sousuke frowns, watching him with eyes that are so similar to Shuurei's, but doesn't jerk his arm away from where Shunsui is carefully applying antiseptic and a bandage. "I fell," Sousuke replies curtly, sounding far too grown up, far too adult for Shunsui's liking. "It was an accident."

_'Bullshit_,' Shunsui thinks, with another rising tide of anger, one that makes his reiatsu vibrate, the floor tremble, and calms immediately when another hand settles on his shoulder and squeezes briefly.

"You should be more careful, Sousuke-kun," Jyuushirou says, all soft smiles and warm eyes, concern banking behind every gentle word. "We don't like to see you hurt."

Sousuke nods, eyes falling away, and Shunsui swallows over a lump in his throat, forcing himself to gently apply the last of the bandage and smooth it over Sousuke's too thin arm and too pale skin. He dutifully pretends that he doesn't see other marks, other bruises. Some new, some fading, and far too numerous.

Shunsui reminds himself that he's not a murderer, that Sousuke will hardly thank him for going out and destroying the man responsible. He wishes he were a stronger man, wishes there was something more he could do than apply bandages and antiseptic and a safe harbor, if only for a little while.

He smiles, rises to his feet, and pats Sousuke gently on the head – always gently, in case there are other bruises he can't see – and not for the last time, wishes that Sousuke was his son in all things, not just in the deepest corners of his heart.

"Did you bring that book again?" Shunsui asks.

Sousuke nods, slipping out from under Shunsui's hand to retrieve said book from his bag. It's probably too advanced for someone his age, but Sousuke has never let a little thing like that stop him. He's reading, better even than they could have expected.

"I'm useless," Shunsui whispers, so quietly he knows only Jyuushirou can hear him.

Jyuushirou doesn't speak; he doesn't have to. His presence is comfort enough. And when Sousuke returns, book in hand and ready to try reading it himself all over again, Shunsui smiles, bigger and brighter, with genuine affection. This may be all he can do and he prays to any god who will listen that it's enough.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: ****GinxIchigo  
Prompt:**** romance  
Rating:**** T  
Warning:**** slash,**** prelude**** to**** smut**

He stands in the doorway and watches, breath held, and perfectly motionless, his reiatsu so tightly confined within him that Ichigo swears the loudest thing about him is his heartbeat. It's not so much that Gin doesn't like to be watched, but that Ichigo enjoys watching his lover when Gin doesn't _know_ he's being watched. His movements are freer, less showoff and more personal.

Gin doesn't have Shinsou, but that doesn't stop him from keeping his skills fresh. The plain katana that they bought years back cleaves smoothly through the air, each movement fluid and precise, almost like a dance. Long, pale limbs, Gin's eyes closed as he breathes in and out, lost to the motions.

He's beautiful like this, a thought Ichigo keeps to himself because Gin doesn't like to be called beautiful or reminded of his good qualities. Maybe because he doesn't think they are true or that he deserves such compliments. Or perhaps such things are reminders of unhappy times in Rukongai where attractiveness was a curse and not a blessing.

So Ichigo watches, barely breathing, barely moving, heat coiling in his belly, and affection washing over him.

The katana whips through the air, a whisper of movement, as Gin finishes the last of his round and comes to a rest. He pauses, arms down, katana dangling at his side. Ichigo can only see his back, but he knows that Gin's eyes are closed as he mediates, slowly encouraging his breath to a calmer rhythm.

"I knew ya were watchin'," Gin says, his voice floating softly into the silence.

Ichigo feels his lips curl as he pushes himself off the door frame, quietly unfurling the tight hold of his reiatsu so that he no longer feels so stifled. "I can't help myself," he replies as Gin returns the katana to it's sheath and sets it on the stand above the mantle.

Gin slants a look at him from the corner of his eye. "And ya call _me_ the pervert."

Yet, he doesn't protest when Ichigo slides an arm around Gin's perpetually small waist, tugging the former traitor into an embrace. Gin is damp with sweat, exertion brightening his pale cheeks with a hint of pink. Ichigo doesn't lean in for a kiss however, his lips wandering to the hollow Gin's throat, right below his ear where he's particularly sensitive. He feels Gin shiver, a purr of appreciation rumbling in the former captain's throat.

Ichigo's fingers slide under Gin's shirt and tease up his back, tracing the line of his spine. "I'm not a pervert, just a man who knows what he wants."

Gin's pleased hum vibrates against Ichigo's lips before Gin crashes their mouths together in a hungry kiss, all the appreciation that Ichigo needs.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** Shuuhei  
Prompt:**** "****Numb,****" ****Linkin**** Park  
Rating: ****T  
Warning: ****spoilers**

The war is over. Aizen has been defeated, locked away, never to trouble them again.

Tousen is dead. Shuuhei doesn't know why this thought bothers him so much.

Tousen is dead, but he knew this would happen. Tousen was dead long before Shuuhei and Sajin-taichou had defeated him in that final battle. The Tousen Shuuhei had known at any rate. The man who'd taught Shuuhei everything he still knew... that man had died the day Aizen and his traitors had risen into the sky in the hands of a Hollow.

Tousen is dead and Shuuhei is the one who killed him. It's not so much that he can't accept the fact, just that it continues to reverberate, echoing around and around in the back of his head.

He trains harder. He trains until the blisters on his hands pop and bleed and heal and become calluses. He studies kido, memorizes spells he'd never had chance to learn in the Academy, and spends hours casting them one after another until one by one, he perfects them. Some, he even manages to cast without the incantation.

He meditates, spending long hours with his legs curled beneath him, Kazeshini braced across his thighs, trying to communicate with the stubborn zanpakutou. He tries to understand his fears of Kazeshini; he tries to get Kazeshini to understand him. He thinks that maybe, if he tries hard enough, he'll get to touch bankai.

Maybe.

He trains with Renji, who seems to have the same driving need to work himself to the bone. There's a shadow in Renji's face, one that Shuuhei doesn't dare ask about and doesn't think Renji will ever want to share either. Renji's shadow is the same reason he trains so hard.

Renji doesn't ask Shuuhei why he's working so hard either.

There's no looming war on the horizon. There's no encroaching darkness. There's just the usual threat of daily Hollow, but Shuuhei continues to train anyway. He pushes himself, and ignores the place where Tousen died. He goes drinking with his friends and wakes up alone. He trains with his subordinates, and anxiously awaits the day they'll finally assign a new captain for the ninth.

It's time to move on. Tousen is dead and the war is over. Shuuhei trains, because if there's one thing Tousen managed to teach him, it's that he'll never know when someone will stab him in the back.

And Shuuhei hates that Tousen felt Shuuhei needed to learn this lesson personally.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** AizenxIchigo  
Prompt:**** "****Familiar ****Taste ****of ****Poison,****" ****Halestorm  
Rating:**** T  
Warning: ****slash,**** smut**

Everyone probably thinks he was kidnapped or something else equally devastated, Ichigo realizes as he stares out the open window which really lacks a view. What else would explain his disappearance? They probably think he was snatched right out from under their noses, and that even now, he's suffering, being tortured by their worst enemy.

Well, they'd be only half right. Ichigo is being tortured, but not because he doesn't want to be. Scratch that. He isn't keen on being teased like this, driven to higher and higher heights of pleasure but unable to fucking come because of a damn cock ring. But it's not a punishment, it's not some madman's sick idea of making Ichigo bend to his whims.

It is, however, Sousuke's perverted means of making Ichigo beg. And on levels Ichigo will never, ever admit aloud...

He likes it.

Ichigo gasps as fingers pinch his nipple, giving them a hard twist that makes his back arch and his blood pulse in his veins.

"Paying attention now?"

Oh, that smug tone. If it didn't make Ichigo's groin tighten, he'd hate it so much.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Ichigo drags his gaze back toward Sousuke, who is looming over him with eyes dark and dangerous... hungry even. His completely nude, dressed only in shadows and lust, hair wild and untamed around his face. He looks undone, and they haven't really done anything yet.

Ichigo smirks, adding a token tug to the ropes twisted around his wrists. His entire body is coated with sweat, and that slickness makes the twine slip a little. "Maybe you're boring me," he drawls, and feels his belly twist at the challenge in Sousuke's eyes.

"Is that so?" Sousuke all but growls, leaning down to latch their lips together in a kiss so harsh, so violent that it make actually seem like a punishment, until Sousuke sucks Ichigo's tongue into his mouth and teases it gently, Sousuke's tongue moving on to explore every inch of Ichigo's mouth.

Ichigo moans, shivers, and wishes he could drag Sousuke down closer, press their bodies together and finally get some much desired friction. He thinks that if his friends could see him now, their jaws would drop out of sheer disbelief.

They won't believe that Ichigo wasn't kidnapped, that he'd actually left willingly. They can't have imagined that Ichigo has no desires to escape, that he doesn't want to be saved, that he's perfectly happy where he is and wouldn't want things any other way.

* * *

a/n: More ficcage on the way!


	188. Flash Fiction Collection 9

a/n: More flash fiction to fill in some spaces, but never fear, by the time we hit drabble 190 it'll be back to our regularly lengthed fics. And also, the countdown to 200 where I call this fic series ended.

Enjoy!

**Characters/Pairing: ****KisukexShinji  
Prompt:**** handcuffs  
Rating: ****M  
Warning:**** slash, ****prelude ****to ****smut**

The cuffs rattle as he tests them and Shinji tosses a glare at his lover. He had agreed to _handcuffs_, not reaitsu-stealing confinement cuffs from the second division. These damn things leave him feeling weak as a kitten, along with keeping his wrists locked behind his back.

He glares. Kisuke grins.

"Now, now," Kisuke says, waving a finger through the air. "I played your little dress-up game. It's only fair that you go along with my kink."

Shinji clenches his jaw. Kisuke's right, damnit. Fair and fair alike. He'd convinced Kisuke to put on that hot little number and Kisuke had whined about it, but he'd done it. And it had been one of the hottest fucks in all history for Shinji. Right up there in the top five.

"Fine," Shinji says, _not _whining at all. "But only this once. I hate these things."

Kisuke looks at him, and there's something dark in his grey eyes that makes Shinji simultaneously shiver and his guts clench with heat.

"I don't think you understand what we're doing here," he says, and circles around Shinji, who's kneeling on the tatami. "I'm the one making the rules right now. Not you."

Kisuke's voice is soft and husky, but there's a commanding edge to it, one Shinji rarely hears directed at himself. He chews on his bottom lip, but can't stop the groan that slips out of his mouth. Damn, Kisuke just _had_ to pick a kink that they shared – secretly on Shinji's end – didn't he? The sneaky bastard.

He takes a few more steps until he's standing just in front of Shinji. "Understand?"

Shinji fights with himself for several long seconds. "Yes," he grits out, and his fingers curl in the reaitsu-stealing cuffs. He can feel them draining him, bit by bit, and he hates it. But he sees what Kisuke's looking for here. Control. Which means this is probably halfway Shinji's fault for taking a good bit of it yesterday.

"Good." Kisuke's lips stretching into a mild grin, but there's a hunger in his eyes as he rakes Shinji from head to knee, taking in every inch of exposed skin. "Your safe word is butterfly."

"Butterfly? What the hell-" But at the look in Kisuke's eyes, he clamps his jaw shut.

Kisuke smiles, and there's challenge in his eyes. "You're learning," he says approvingly and then one hand lowers to his groin, where an obvious arousal pushes against the fabric of his hakama. "Now suck."

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** ByakuyaxRyuuken, ****Uryuu  
Prompt:**** pride  
Rating:**** M  
Warning: ****slash, ****language**

His father is a hypocrite. Uryuu knew this when he caught Ryuuken having a conversation with Ichigo's very Shinigami father, but he never expected to find Ryuuken in this situation. This goes beyond hypocritical and into a downright masquerade.

_This_ is his father in something that's beyond a friendship with a Shinigami. This is his father _fucking_ a Shinigami and Uryuu can't decide if he's thoroughly furious or pleased that Ryuuken no longer has a leg to stand on.

Worse that it's not even a pseudo-Shinigami like Ichigo or his father. Worse that it's a Shinigami who's considered a noble. Worse that it's a Shinigami who's way too young for Ryuuken, if one adjusts ages accordingly.

Worse that it's Kuchiki Byakuya.

Kuchiki is also a hypocrite. To the nth degree. He turns his nose up at Abarai courting his sister, but goes to bed with a human from the Living World. And not just any human either, but an honest-to-goodness Quincy. Though, to be fair, Ryuuken still likes to pretend he's not a part of that world. Uryuu wrinkles his nose and all he smells is bullshit.

"Uryuu," Ryuuken says, and he tries to sound stern, but it's hard for Uryuu to believe him when he's half-crouched over a naked, blushing Shinigami and very obviously aroused. "I did not realize you were visiting today."

Typical Ryuuken. Ignore the problem. Pretend it is par for the course, and like the good son, Uryuu should go along with it. Should just walk away and act like Ryuuken hadn't just stepped on every little lesson he'd stomped into his son's head.

Uryuu's voice is cold, like ice, as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry. _I_didn't realize you were entertaining ghostly guests. My mistake." His eyes flick to Kuchiki, but the Shinigami is doing a very good impression of a statue, his expression betraying nothing.

Ryuuken's brow draws together, his brown eyes all the more visible for his lack of eyewear. "Uryuu-"

"No." It's the first time he's interrupted his father like this, a fact of which they are both startlingly aware. "I am done listening to you," Uryuu says, and turns on his heel, making a quick exit from the room. If Ryuuken comes after him, Uryuu doesn't care to look. Let the hypocritical bastard have his Shinigami lover.

Uryuu's not a little boy anymore, standing at his father's knees and begging for attention. He can and will walk away. A man has his pride; a Quincy even more so. Worser still that he'll never be able to wash that image from his mind. Uryuu shudders.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** Aizen/Stark  
Prompt: ****dominance  
Rating: ****M  
Warning: ****slash,**** smut****_,_**** some**** bondage**

It's almost like being king of the world, or coming pretty damn close to it. At least, that's what Stark thinks. The Shinigami would probably think otherwise. So would Barragan. But being this close to so much power, so much he can almost taste it, Stark can't imagine a perch more lofty.

His knees press into hard stone. His fingers grasp the top of the throne above Aizen's head. His hips move, almost in a rhythm of their own, breath escaping him in short pants. The throne room is cold, almost dismally so, but three points of hot fire help to chase that completely away.

Aizen's hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin, gripping him as he pulls Stark's body down to meet each hungry thrust. Aizen's cock as it pushes into Stark, full and deep, throbbing every time he so much as clenches.

Their reiatsu is a slow and steady pulse in the air, Shinigami and Hollow mixing in a way that would make those old farts in Soul Society have a heart attack. Aizen's power is heady, a distinct buzz that rolls over Stark's body as though it were a physical presence. It makes his body tingle, his own reiatsu rise to meet it, makes his blood surge and his cock throb.

He wants so badly to reach down, stroke himself, but that's not the way things work. So his fingers tighten around the back of the throne and he groans, furiously trying to rock himself against Aizen's well-muscled abdomen. Aizen's grip tightens, however, keeping him firmly in place.

Stark feels a whine building in his throat, but he clamps down on it, refusing to offer such a plea. He knows Aizen wants to hear it. Which is all the more reason to keep it locked inside.

One of the overlord's hand looses it's hold on Stark's hip and slides up Stark's side, an almost caress that makes Stark's skin prickle. He shivers, licks his lips, and moves desperately. It's cold in the throne room, but Stark can't tell considering the sweat that paints his body, makes his hair stick to the back of his neck.

Aizen's watching him with an intensity that would frighten anyone else. But Stark's not that easily intimidated. Aizen might be an all-powerful Shinigami traitor, but he's still just a Shinigami.

He's a Shinigami hungry for power, hungry for all the things Seireitei denied him. He's come to Hueco Mundo to claim a throne no one ever wanted – save Barragan but he's a psycho and a moot point. He's built himself a palace, surrounded himself with enemies turned allies, but really, Aizen's no different from Stark. In the end, he's searching for the same utterly unattainable thing.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: ****ShirosakixShuuhei  
Prompt:**** "****Hurricane,****" ****30 ****Seconds ****to**** Mars  
Rating:**** M  
Warning: ****slash, ****smut,**** bondage**

Shuuhei can honestly say that he's never been in a situation quite like this before. He's sure Kurosaki is somewhere behind the black-gold eyes, but right now Shuuhei is faced with something else.

A tongue slips out, licking lips in a rather lewd fashion that should terrify Shuuhei, but instead makes his stomach do a flip of interest and twist with heat. "Well, well, what 'ave we here?" Kurosaki's body rasps, and what did Renji call this alter ego? Shirosaki? "A pretty little Shinigami trussed up for the taking."

Shuuhei works his jaw, wiggles a bit, but really, there's no room. He's effectively trapped beneath Kurosaki-turned-Hollow, and if he swallows too thickly, the blade pressed to his throat will bite further into his skin. He can already feel it teasing at his flesh, and there's a trickle of blood down his throat. Also, his hands are trapped in Kurosaki's – no, Shirosaki's, he has to keep them straight – and for such a skinny brat, Shuuhei doesn't think he can break the Hollow's one-handed hold.

He wishes he could be terrified, but there's something about the weight of the Hollow, the warmth and the lust that gleams in those black-gold eyes that makes Shuuhei not so much terrified as _desperately __aroused_ and really, isn't that just the kicker? Renji would find this so amusing, he would, he's always thought Shuuhei the most twisted of perverts, though that's kind of a case of pot calling the kettle black. He'll mock Shuuhei about it for days once he hears about it, providing Shuuhei lives long enough to tell the tale.

Shuuhei swallows, carefully mind, and looks up at the Hollow. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to convince you to let me go?"

Shirosaki chuckles, and one knee nudges Shuuhei's groin, where his traitorous cock has risen to the occasion and betrayed him. "Doesn't seem like all of you agrees with that request," he says, and both brows lift as he leans down, warm tongue dragging wetly over Shuuhei's cheek in a way that travels straight to his cock, making it throb against the faint pressure of Shirosaki's knee.

He gasps, tilts his head back, and the zanpakutou blade bites a little deeper. It hurts in such a good way and that's when Shuuhei knows he's completely fucked, off his rocker. His sense of kink is going to get him killed, is what is going to happen.

"Nope," Shirosaki says with a cheerful pop of his lips that shouldn't be so erotic. He pulls back, draws the blade with him, and examines the drop of Shuuhei's blood clinging to the edge. "Seems like you're more interested in staying, doesn't it?" And his tongue slides over the metal, lapping up the drop with a lewd lick that Shuuhei shouldn't find arousing.

But he does anyway, and he groans, arching beneath the Hollow. Shirosaki chuckles in a Hollow's voice, and Shuuhei is _so_ dead. But oh, what a fuckin' way to go.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** AizenxGrimmjow  
Prompt:**** "****The**** Hand**** that ****Feeds,****" ****Nine**** Inch**** Nails  
Rating:**** M  
Warning:****slash ,****smut,**** some**** D&S**

He's on his knees, probably the safest place for him to be right now.

Grimmjow tries not to shiver, that's a cowardly thing to do, but the chill in the air attacks his bare skin, and the stone floor is even colder on his bare knees. He wants to say that it's the temperature threatening to make his body shake, but that would be a lie. So he clamps his mouth shut, squares his jaw, narrows his eyes, and looks up defiantly.

He's not afraid. He's fucking terrified but he's not saying anything.

Aizen looks down at him, circle all around, and he's not saying much either. There's a look in his eyes that Grimmjow can't name. It's not anger, or annoyance, or amusement. It doesn't bode well for Grimmjow, that's for sure, but he doesn't know if that look means pain and lots of it, or agony that mixes with pleasure until he can't tell them apart. Until they get so confused in his head that he can't tell the difference anymore.

Aizen's still not talking. He's also not dressed like usual. Little more than a simple robe, belted at the waist. His feet are bare, and that should make Grimmjow feel a little safer, looking at the all-powerful Aizen's bare feet. It should make Aizen seem less intimidating, maybe even a bit silly. Except Grimmjow's not an idiot, at least not that kind. He knows better than to give substance to an illusion.

He stares at Aizen's bare feet, shoulders squared, and tells himself he's not going to shake.

A hand reaches out; Grimmjow doesn't flinch. Fingers trail through his hair, make his scalp pringle. The fingers are warm, almost caressing, stroking him from the crown of his head and down across his hair. They pause at the nape of his neck, a gentle stroke that makes a shiver dance down Grimmjow's spine. He can't stop it.

His head lowers. He knows, without the bastard saying it, that it's what Aizen wants and Grimmjow stares at the floor, his breathing echoing sharply in the otherwise empty chamber. Aizen's fingers are still on his nape, stroking the finer hairs, and Grimmjow clamps down on the rumble that tries to build in his chest, too much like a fucking purr for his comfort.

He can feel the weight of Aizen's stare, itching between his shoulderblades, and further down, burning and blazing on the tattoo on his lower back. Aizen's fingers drag out, across the top of Grimmjow's back and he's standing right behind Grimmjow now, hands on his Espada's shoulders, fingers curling over until they rest lightly on Grimmjow's collarbone.

Finally, Aizen leans forward, his voice a wet, hot breath across Grimmjow's ear, his words sizzling straight to Grimmjow's groin, making him swallow thickly. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

a/n: I hope you enjoyed! More ficcage to come.


	189. Flash Fiction Collection 10

a/n: Author promises that this is the last of the flash fics. Coming up next is the countdown to the end. Ten real drabbles that'll signify the end of this collection. Enjoy!

**Seireitei Monogatari - Drabble 189**

**Flash Fiction Collection #10**

* * *

**Characters/Pairing: ****Ichigo/Stark  
Prompt:**** happy,**** set ****in ****_Misguided_****_ Manipulation_****  
Rating:**** T  
Warning: ****slash,**** spoilers**

"Does it hurt?"

Stark prods at his chin, where he's sure there's a bruise or something similar. Ichigo never pulls his punches and he's strong for a brat.

"No," Stark lies, and stops poking at his new bruise, instead reaching forward and dragging Ichigo closer to him, dragging his fingers over bare skin that's enticingly within reach. He's been dreaming of this and damn it, his dreams hadn't done his lover justice. "By the gods, I missed you."

He feels Ichigo smile against his throat. "I know," Ichigo says and nibbles at his throat, teeth teasing at the remnants of Stark's mask, knowing good and well how much it affects him. "It's your own fault, idiot."

"I'll never make that mistake again," Stark promises, and drags his hands down Ichigo's back, loving the way he arches into the touch like a cat.

"Of course you won't," Ichigo retorts knowingly and drags his tongue over the sensitive bone, making Stark shudder and heat dance down his spine. "You know better now."

Stark chuckles, though it comes out shaky as his composure is less than stable at the moment. "Oh? Has someone become an adult in my absence?"

Ichigo bites his throat, which hardly serves as a punishment since Stark enjoys it so much. "Bastard," he says, and takes the opportunity to curl his fingers around Stark's cock, stroking him firmly. "Who's the one who ran away?"

"I wasn't running," Stark protests, and a moan slips from his lips, his own hands unable to stop touching and generally expressing his utter happiness. "I was protecting you – ow!"

Brat bit him _again_. With more force this time. Probably drew blood too.

Ichigo lifts his head, smirks at Stark, his eyes beautifully dark and dangerous, challenging even. "Is that so?" he purrs, and his fingers do another one of those skillful twists that always turn Stark to putty.

"I _was_," Stark insists, and when that razor look returns to Ichigo's eyes, he amends, "but I can obviously see now that it wasn't necessary and therefore, I rescind my earlier actions."

Ichigo chuckles, and slowly licks his lips. "In that case, all that I have left to say is welcome home." This is accompanied by a sensuous grind of his body that leaves Stark seeing stars. Welcome home indeed.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** Gin/Ichigo  
Prompt: ****none****, set in Minutes to Midnight  
Rating:**** M  
Warning: ****slash,**** smut**

Ichigo is a virgin. Gin might as well be one. That probably explains why this feels so awkward. And it's the awkwardness that bothers Gin because this sort of thing should come naturally. But then, he supposes without experience, there's only so much he and Ichigo can figure out, despite the literature and videos and unwanted advice Urahara-san had thrust upon them.

Ichigo's blushing; Gin's face is probably scarlet to match. But anticipation also hangs in the air, twisting like tension, in Gin's gut, in his groin. He's been hard in his hakama for the past twenty minutes. He loves the way Ichigo tastes when they kiss. He loves the boldness of Ichigo's wandering fingers. He's more than ready to see Ichigo stripped of his white uniform.

Gin's only experience is a disastrous night he'd rather forget. He doesn't want that to happen here. It helps that Ichigo wants him, it helps that feelings are mutual.

It helps that Ichigo is coming toward him with that look in his eyes, one that speaks volumes without words. And now is Gin's turn to be the one with the knowledge.

Ichigo's blush is deepening as Gin reaches for him, draws them together for a deep kiss that tangles their tongues. Ichigo tastes like cream and chocolate, he feels warm and silky under Gin's fingers as the former Shinigami cups his head and tracks fingers through the hair at the nape of Ichigo's neck.

His heart is thudding in his chest at a mile a minute and he knows Ichigo's must be acting the same.

Hands reach for Gin's clothing, one tugging insistently at his obi. Ichigo nips at Gin's lips, his hands diving into Gin's overrobe as he strips the obi away and tosses it to the side. Gin loves his aggressiveness, loves his bravado. Loves him truthfully, but perhaps it'll be a while yet before Gin can say so aloud.

"I..." Ichigo starts, stutters, turns a furious scarlet. "I don't know how to make this sexy," he admits, tugging at Gin's clothing in an effort to remove them.

If there is a god, Gin thanks him in that moment. Ichigo is nothing like Rangiku, nothing like that one disastrous night, and Gin is glad for it.

"It doesn't have ta be," he purrs as his shitagi slides from his shoulders to the floor. "The sex part comes after. Or durin' if ya really want it that way."

"Pervert," Ichigo says, but it's affectionate, and he doesn't resist when Gin drags him in for a kiss, hands roaming to strip the Vizard out of his clothing with quick, efficient motions of his hands. Best not to let Ichigo make _every_first move after all.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** Stark/Shuuhei/Grimmjow  
Prompt:**** Sudden ****Pet**** Owner  
Rating:**** M  
Warning:**** bondage,**** gag,**** threesome, ****slash**

"I think we should call him kitty."

Blue eyes narrow at them, a growl echoing from a pale throat. Stark supposes that their new pet might have spoken, but the gag is preventing him from doing so. And such a lovely gag it is, trapped between a lovely pair of lips that are curled into a snarl.

"I don't think he likes that, Stark," Hisagi says, a mischievous grin on his lips.

Stark's fingers drag through blue hair, surprisingly soft for such a harsh creature. "Hmm. Do you think kitten is better then?"

Those eyes flash angrily, haughtily, and he's all the more attractive for it. Stark has always thought Grimmjow a querulous creature, but an arousing one nonetheless. It's in taming him that s a challenge, one that Stark thinks both he and Hisagi are up to.

"I think it suits him more," Hisagi agrees, and drags his hand down Grimmjow's bare chest, fingers tickling at the edge of the Arrancar's sensitive Hollow's hole.

Stark watches as his lover teases their soon-to-be lover with clever fingers. The sight of them together, Hisagi with his dark hair and dark eyes, his Shinigami reiatsu, is a perfect contrast to Grimmjow with his light hair and eyes, his Hollow reiatsu, is defiant glare. He's agreed to this, yes, but Grimmjow has never been one to bow down gracefully.

Sweat has already painted Grimmjow's pale skin in a wonderful sheen. And his cheeks darken with arousal, flushing scarlet. He moves, sinuously, into Hisagi's touch, unable to stop the tiny whimpers of pleasure in his throat. Stark smirks. No Hollow can resist that erotic touch, not even someone as bullheaded as Grimmjow.

"I've always wanted a pet," Stark murmurs, fingers dragging through Grimmjow's hair in the way that he knows the kitty has always liked but never admitted. He leans forward, lips teasing wet and warm on Grimmjow's ear.

"Now we can share one," Hisagi says, and his calloused hand wraps around Grimmjow's bare cock with a long stroke that makes the Espada arch his back and _groan_. He grins. "See? Kittens _love_ to be stroked."

If looks could _kill_... Stark chuckles at the death that gleams in Grimmjow's blue eyes. How interesting that he can both radiate an intent to rend Hisagi limb from limb for daring to be so condescending in all the same look that demands if Hisagi stops, death will also be forthcoming. He's such a bundle of contradictions, their new pet.

Grimmjow whines as Hisagi strokes him just right and Stark licks his lips. And oh, what a delicious pet as well.

* * *

**Characters/Pairing:**** Tatsuki/Soifon  
Prompt: ****candy ****hearts  
Rating:**** T  
Warning:**** yuri,**** crack****_, _****kiss ****between ****women**

"What are these?"

Tatsuki can barely hide her chuckle or her amusement. The disdain on Soifon's face seems better reserved for a mortal enemy or a pile of dog crap as opposed to the basket of Valentine's Day goodies that Tatsuki has thrust in her direction.

"There's this little thing in the Living World that we call Valentine's Day," Tatsuki says, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "You know, you really should get out more. You might even enjoy it."

Soifon scowls at her, but doesn't stop peering into the basket, one finger poking through the various gaudily wrapped packages as though they might jump out and bite her. "I've no need for human celebrations," she says with a sneer, but she takes out a folded piece of paper anyway, cheeks darkening at the heartfelt message printed on the front.

Tatsuki reaches into the basket, pulling out a small box of candies that rattles as she rips it open and tips them into Soifon's free hand. "These are my favorite," she says cheerfully. "They are cheap and taste like chalk but for some reason, everyone loves them."

Soifon's nose wrinkles up in that adorable way that Tatuski love, a wrinkle that declares annoyance and death and actually shows just how touched she is but won't admit it.

"_Be __mine,_" she reads aloud, tone utterly avoid of inflection as her eyes roam over the little candy hearts sitting on her palm. "_Kiss__me_."

Is that an invitation? Why yes, Tatsuki thinks it is!

She leans forward just as Soifon is reading _"__My __girl__" _and captures her lover's lips in a sweet, sultry kiss. Soifon makes an _mmmph_ noise against her mouth, but doesn't protest, just jabs her tongue into Tatsuki's mouth in an attempt to take control of the kiss as she always does. She tastes sweet, like the chocolate Tatsuki shoved into her mouth before handing over the chocolate.

"Don't mind if I do," Tatsuki purrs in a brief lull in their kiss, licking her lips pointedly. "Isn't that the point?"

Soifon glares in a lovely mix of aroused demand and annoyed bluster. "You are an idiot," she declares, but Tatsuki knows different. What she really means is _I __love__ you_. She just doesn't know how to say it yet.

Tatuski chuckles. "That may be true, but you love me anyway," she says, and captures Soifon's lips before her lover can declare otherwise. She just loves keeping Soifon on her toes. That astonished blush is the cutest thing _ever._

* * *

a/n:Next update will be up after the New Year. See you then!


	190. Love Games

a/n: At last! A real update!

This one falls in the same series as "Closer" and "Somnambulist". It's also full of het smut. You are warned.**  
**

**Title: Love Games**

**Characters: Ichigo/Benihime, implied Ichigo/Urahara**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: het, implied slash, implied threesome, PORN**

**Words: 2,091**

**Description: Fair is fair. Especially when it comes to Benihime and her human.**

* * *

Ichigo startles out of a half-doze when a warm weight suddenly straddles his hips. Warm hands plant themselves on his abdomen, palms flat, fingers splayed. A familiar reiatsu teases at his senses.

"I know you're awake," a female's voice purrs as she shifts atop him. "You might as well open your eyes."

He does so, peering through the dim of his and Kisuke's bedroom at the person perched on him. He should probably be reacting with more alarm, but his brain is not operating at full capacity.

Ichigo doesn't recognize this woman. She's in a plain, dark kimono, her bare knees visibly pale. Her hair is a shock of curly white, her eyes almost glowing and noticeably blood-red. She seems young, or at least, barely out of her teens.

"Who are you?" he asks even as his gaze shifts to Kisuke, sleeping peacefully beside him without so much as a twitch. He doesn't sleep this heavily. Ever.

Her palms slide up his bare abdomen with a sensitizing caress.

"Oh, he's not going to wake up, my dear," she whispers near his ear. "Don't worry about that. And you should know who I am, Ichigo. I'm a bit insulted you don't."

His skin prickles where she touches him. But strangely, Ichigo is not disturbed.

"I don't think we've met," he says cautiously, very aware of the dangerous edge to her power. Which does seem vaguely familiar. And probably would be even more so if he were more awake.

She chuckles. Her voice is warm and smooth like honey.

"Oh, we have. Though I've always been in another form."

Reiatsu washes over Ichigo, making him tingle.

Both familiar and foreign, recognition finally stirs Ichigo's muzzy thoughts.

"Benihime."

"I knew you were smart!" she declares with a self-satisfied smirk.

Confusion settled, Ichigo still wonders the most important question: namely, why she is here, straddling him.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

She leans forward, hands sliding up his bare chest, resting over his nipples. He shivers again.

"As a matter of fact there is."

Ichigo can't seem to look away from her face. "And?"

"It's not fair," Benihime murmurs, and her hips lightly shift over his. "Zangetsu's gotten to play, but I haven't."

Ichigo's breath stutters in remembered ecstasy.

Oh yes, _that_ night. When he and Zangetsu had pinned Kisuke between them, wringing cries of pleasure from the shopkeeper.

His cock stirs at the vivid memory. Ichigo feels his face burn.

"I... see," he replies. "So you want to..."

Her fingers scrape his skin, a teasing touch that makes his skin prickle. "Play," Benihime purrs, blood-red eyes brightening. "Just you and me this time. Ki-chan can join us later."

Ichigo, for the life of him, can't and won't say no. Fair is fair, and Benihime is utterly beautiful as he looks at her. Seductive. And she's a part of Kisuke that Ichigo will _always_ want.

Cautiously, Ichigo rests his hands on her hips, feeling the warmth beneath the thin fabric. "That sounds fair to me," he offers, and his pulse throbs at the mere thought.

Benihime performs a wiggle of pleasure. "Good," she breathes and reaches for her obi, one hand pulling open the knot so her kimono gapes open enticingly.

Ichigo's gaze stays riveted on the spot, the shadows of her breast an alluring invitation. Kisuke is the man he's quite certain he loves, but Ichigo can appreciate women as well. He's not inexperienced. Also, _no__t_ being attracted to Benihime is not an option.

"I've a good idea how this is supposed to go." Benihime toys with the length of fabric hanging from her shoulder. "But I know for certain being naked is a good start."

A flick of her hands and the kimono slides off, leaving her nude from the waist up. Ichigo's mouth goes dry as he admires while logic struggles to focus on her words. His hands glide upward from her hips, fingers gently stroking her sides.

"You've never done this before?"

"Never liked Ki-chan's choice before," she answers with a visible shiver. "I know the process by peripheral experience, but I want to know for myself. I _like_ you."

He swallows. "I'm honored."

Benihime smiles wickedly, grabbing his hands and boldly placing them on her breasts. "I may be untouched, but I'm not shy."

"I noticed." Ichigo can do nothing less than touch her, cupping the soft weight of her breasts, gently rolling her nipples with his fingertips.

She arches into his touch, sighing with satisfaction.

"Mmm. Nice."

Ichigo says nothing, his gaze consuming her nude frame as his hands gently explore. She's soft and warm, her reiatsu a tangible vibration under his fingers. Her face flushes a pale pink with arousal. Within the confines of his sleep pants, Ichigo feels himself throb.

Benihime rocks atop him, one hand flat on his abdomen as the other grabs her kimono and completely whisks it side, leaving her entirely bare. Not an ounce of modesty about her. Ichigo doesn't mind.

Eager to touch, Ichigo releases one breast and drags a hand across her pale belly and to the trim of white hair at the apex of her thighs. He can hear her breath hitch as she widens her legs, giving him room to slip his fingers lower.

He's gentle as he explores, fingers teasing at her damp folds before one slides inside her. She's oh-so-wet for him, slickness easily coating his finger. His thumb ghosts across her, and a breathy moan escapes her lips.

"Yesss," Benihime encourages, nibbling on her bottom lip as she slants her hips toward his fingers.

"Good?"

His gaze is riveted on the motions of her body, the way her eyes darken with arousal. He adds another finger.

"Better than." She curls a hold around his wrist, holding his hand in place as she grinds down on his fingers. "Want you inside of me though."

Ichigo breathes a curse. He twitches in agreement and soaks the fabric of his sleep pants.

"Okay." He pauses, years of Isshin's lecture making him hesitate. "But is it..."

"Safe?" She supplies, a shiver making her visibly shudder. "I'm not human, Ichigo. So... yes. Safe."

Well. All right then. Because as much as Ichigo adores Kisuke, he doesn't want to contemplate the possible complications of a human-Shinigami-Zanpakutou love-child.

"But first," Benihime says with a hip wiggle as her free hand tugs at his waistband, "I need you naked."

Ichigo has no argument with that. Benihime rises up on her knees, helping him wriggle out of his pants, before she straddles him again. Her wetness settles on him, and she shifts her hips, smearing her juices over his length. Ichigo bites back another curse as he grips her hips and hopes not to leave bruises behind.

"Eager?" he asks, heat coiling in his belly and the room.

And still, Kisuke hasn't stirred, locked in his dream land however Benihime managed it.

"Very much so."

Benihime grins down at him, dragging a hand through her hair. She reaches with her other hand and guides him to her wet center. Ichigo's fingers flex on her hips, every sense focused on her movements. His breath catches, heart pounding a mad rhythm. He nudges at her dripping folds, and Ichigo's patience snaps. He pushes up into her, hands pulling down as he slides into wet, clenching heat.

Benihime gasps; Ichigo moans. Reiatsu surges in the room. Her hands fly down, gripping his arms.

"Now who's eager?" Benihime teases, her hips doing another small dance that drags a shudder from Ichigo.

"Sorry," he gasps out and rocks, small slides in and out of her.

Benihime smirks. "Didn't hurt." Her fingers squeeze his arms. "Now show me what ya got, _Ichigo_." Her eyes flash as he grinds down.

A small growl builds in Ichigo's throat. He thrusts upward, pushing deep, and she matches his rhythm. She's so very wet around him and enjoying it if the soft noises are any indication.

Ichigo himself feels ablaze with pleasure. Her reiatsu washes over him in tantalizing tingles, both familiar and foreign, somehow both Kisuke and not. It teases at his own energy, swelling to blanket the room, practically a beacon for any spiritually sensitive person in the area. Ichigo can't be bothered to care; she feels too good.

Benihime sucks in a sharp breath. Her hips work and seek her own pleasure.

"Mmm. Ki-chan's got good taste."

"Thanks... I think."

Desire strips him of all witty repartee. Ichigo only wants to feel.

He pushes up into her, muscles straining. Pleasure ripples through him from all directions. Their reiatsu twines together, amping up the volume. Benihime feels so good, hot and wet, each gasping moan sensual in his ears.

And yet, it's not enough. He needs more. He needs leverage.

Eyes flashing, Ichigo tightens his grip on Benihime and suddenly tilts them both to the side, away from the slumbering Kisuke. She gives a little squeak of surprise as she lands half-on, half-off the futon, knees clamping down on Ichigo's waist.

He wastes no time in sinking back inside her, going much deeper than before. They moan simultaneously, and Benihime arches up to meet him. She grips his arms as his hands land to either side of her head. Her fingers dig into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks behind.

Ichigo snaps his hips, her muscles rippling around him, and the curl of arousal in his gut tightens. He grinds down, buried inside her. Benihime gasps, fingers kneading, body arching up to meet him. Their reiatsu twines and knots before finally syncing, pulsing in harmony.

A curse spills from Ichigo's lips, sweat trickling down his spine. Benihime's face is flushed, her eyes ruby bright. Coherence abandons Ichigo. It leaves only pressing need that pounds through him at the same rapid rate of his heartbeat.

"Oh, I'm close," Benihime moans, throwing her head back as she writhes beneath him. "Kiss me! Let me taste you."

He complies without question, lowering himself so that their mouths are in proximity. Benihime surges up to meet him. Her lips crash over his, and her tongue eagerly sweeps inside. Her mouth is hot, and she tastes of licorice, the good kind. Ichigo moans into the kiss, thrusts increasing in pace as he drives the both of them to climax. He's determined to have her undone first.

His body, however, seems to have no inclination to listen. The pleasure is dizzying, their entwined reiatsu intoxicating. She feels too damn good, and when Ichigo comes, it takes him by surprise and slams through his body.

He releases with a muffled shout, his world-view whiting out briefly before clarity returns. Benihime arches beneath him. Her fingers squeezes, and her reiatsu is wild.

"Not fair," she moans.

"Not done," Ichigo gasps and slides out of her, scooting down until he's between her legs.

His hands grasp her knees, pushing her legs apart and his mouth falls over her. She all but whines, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as he works her with lips and tongue. She's so very wet, and the taste of himself mingled with _her_ is unexpectedly erotic.

He laps at her lower lips and applies delicate pressure. He licks inside of her, struggling to pin her bucking body down. Benihime's cries of pleasure are loud, reigniting Ichigo's own passions.

Benihime's fingers dig into his skin as she writhes and trembles. Ichigo's mouth works furiously, tasting and teasing, and when she comes, it's with a resounding keen that makes Ichigo's desire spike.

She tangles a hand in his hair, dragging him upward for a sloppy kiss that tastes of them. Benihime purrs into the kiss and lazily shifts beneath him.

"Very nice." She nips at his bottom lip. "Thank you."

A pleased hum echoes in Ichigo's throat. "My pleasure."

Benihime laughs. "I noticed. We should do this again sometime. With Ki-chan. And Zangetsu if he can be convinced."

A spike of desire rises from within Ichigo. "He's interested," he reassures.

"Good." Benihime's hands stroke down his arms. "Now how about round two?"

Behind them, a groggy voice interjects, "Only if you share the fun with me."

Both Benihime and Ichigo turn their heads to the sight of an awake Kisuke with desire gleaming in his eyes. Arousal vibrates in his reiatsu.

"It's only polite to share," the blond adds.

The idea of being trapped between them makes Ichigo heat up all over again.

"I'm game."

Benihime nuzzles against his cheek. "Sounds good to me."

"Fair is fair," Kisuke says and crawls across the futon to join them.

* * *

a/n: Updates should be coming along more frequently now. Up until I finish at number 200!

Feedback is welcome and appreciated.


	191. Past Imperfect Protasis

a/n: So this piece here. Originally _Past Imperfect_ was going to be a separate story like _The Beautiful Lie _but with my declining interest in Bleach, I didn't want to get trapped in another long fic. But I didn't want to lose this awesome storyline either so I compromised. Write the fic, but make it short. So here it is.

This fic doesn't entirely turn out the way I originally planned, but some things had to change in order to fit into this different format. Even with shortening it, I still ended up with three parts. This is the first one. Also, this fic was conceived way before recent events in the manga so it's disastrously AU. As in, pretty much anything that happened after Nel battles Nnoitra, never happened here.

-EDIT- Ahem. Sorry for the confusion. This part, Protasis, is only the first part of Past Imperfect. There will be two other updates, one labeled Epitasis and one labeled Catastasis, that will be updated later on in Seireitei Monogatari. In fact, Epitasis is number 193 and Catastasis is number 198. I'm sorry if I led you to believe that this was all there would be to the story.-END EDIT-

With that said, please enjoy.

Enjoy.

**Title: Past Imperfect (Protasis)**

**Characters: Ichigo, Shunsui, ensemble**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: character death, angst, AU-ish, after-battle images  
**

**Words: 2281**

**Description: The war has been won, but at a price that seems too costly to pay. Everything has been traced back to a single, defining moment. And Ichigo makes a choice. **

* * *

A month later, the death toll rises, but the missing-in-action list never seems to shorten. The more bodies that are pulled from the rubble, the less the survivors are relieved or soothed. Funerals are an everyday occurrence, but the morgue doesn't empty, and the work never ends.

It's hot. The sun beaming down relentlessly, not a cloud in sight. Most of the surviving Shinigami have stripped down as they dig through the debris, each lifted plank of wood or stone causing dust to rise in the air. It coats their skin, their nostrils, turning them all the same greyish shade.

Ichigo is no different.

He sighs, sucks in a dusty breath, and lets a piece of wall slide to the side. Ash puffs up in its wake, but there's nothing underneath. Ichigo isn't sure if this is a good thing. Not anymore.

He straightens, back screeching in protest, and swipes his wrist over his sweating forehead. His fingers are starting to crack and bleed again from digging through blasted rock. Hanatarou will have to heal them, looking up at him with those limpid eyes. Wanting to ask if he's found anyone but terrified of the answer Ichigo will give.

Ichigo inhales carefully, nose wrinkling. A month later and the battlefield still smells of death. Of ash and blood. There are echoes of screams, cries of terror, weeping. It's been a month, and Ichigo can't escape the ghosts. He's not sure he wants to.

His body aches. His reiatsu is a tired throb inside his body. He's set Zangetsu aside a long time ago. The Shinigami digging around him are all strangers, but Ichigo feels an odd kinship with them. Their grieving, determined, and relentless pursuit through rubble.

Ichigo's not looking for anyone in particular. He's just looking. It's all he can do now. It's all he's good for. It's all that's left.

Licking his lips with a dry tongue, Ichigo sighs and moves on to a new spot, a new piece of land buried with debris. Blood is spattered on shattered stone. There's a scrap of black fabric pinched between columns of wood. Maybe something's here. Maybe there's nothing.

Ichigo grits his teeth. And he digs.

o0o0o

"When do you think it was?"

Ichigo looks up from his cup of sake, where he'd been listlessly swirling the contents around rather than drinking it.

"Hmm?"

"When do you think it was?" Kyouraku-soutaichou repeats, looking half-lost as he sits back in his chair. He stares out the window, face pensive and drawn. "At what point, did Aizen almost win?"

Ichigo slumps. "I don't know how to answer that. Would it matter if I did?"

"Maybe," Shunsui replies, and the fingers of one hand drums on his desktop. The others rise to rub at his forehead, another headache perhaps. "Maybe if we knew, maybe it would make things better."

"You can't change the past," Ichigo replies, wincing out of sympathy. He lifts his cup, inhales the sake's aroma, but still doesn't drink it.

"But if we could..."

"When would we," Ichigo finishes for him.

His gaze lifts again, taking in the tired and worn Shunsui that sits before him. A pale shadow of the vibrant man he had once been.

He doesn't smile much. There isn't reason to smile. Not with his father and his brother dead. His best friend. His columns of support. He doesn't drink, doesn't laugh. The stacks of paperwork on his desk grow higher and higher. His brown hair turns greyer and greyer. By looking at him, Ichigo would think they'd lost the war.

Except that they'd won.

It didn't feel like it.

"Yes," Shunsui confirms, sounding heavy and broken. "When would we?"

o0o0o

"Is there any change?"

"No, taichou. Not since last week," Hanatarou replies, exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, in desperate need of rest. Just like the rest of them, the rest of the survivors.

Not victors. Survivors.

Ichigo sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I told you that you didn't have to call me that, Hanatarou." He offers a thin smile. "Formality isn't really important anymore."

Hanatarou looks at him, shoulders stiff and voice plain. "It's part of the Shinigami culture," he replies. "If we abandon that, what else will we have?"

Ichigo doesn't have an answer for that. But he doesn't think Hanatarou expects one. The newly appointed vice-captain instead turns and leads Ichigo down the hallway, toward the long-term care ward of the fourth division. Rarely in use before Aizen's war, now it has only one occupant. The last person Ichigo would have ever expected to take up residence.

Hanatarou opens the door. It's not locked. There's no reason for it to be. They would all rejoice if the resident could get up and leave under his own power.

Ichigo pauses in the doorway, lingering in the threshold, once again feeling like a failure. Like their victory is nothing less than a result of being the last ones standing.

"He likes the blinds open," Hanatarou comments, strolling inside and opening the window so that bright sunshine fills the room. "There's a detectable change in his reiatsu when it's open. It's not much, but..."

Ichigo shakes his head. "It's nothing," he returns perhaps a bit too harshly, and his insides tighten.

That staring, empty husk is not Zaraki Kenpachi. Those blank eyes, combed hair, neat clothes, sitting and seeing nothing, is not Zaraki Kenpachi.

Except that it is.

His hands clench into fists. It shouldn't have ended like this.

o0o0o

"You asked me once when it was that we nearly lost the war. I think I know."

There's a pause. Hesitation.

"When?"

"When Halibel stabbed Urahara in the back."

More silence. But it's contemplative now.

"He was our first serious fatality."

Agreement.

"And after that, we started dropping like flies. No one else could read Aizen like he did. We were fighting blind. We got lucky."

A scoff.

"You call this lucky?"

Quiet. Solemn. Painful.

"Not anymore."

o0o0o

He stares at the small object, barely larger than his hand. It's hexagonal in shape, one end covered in a clear stone, not quite glass but something stronger. The other end has some kind of digital display.

"What is it?"

Tessai folds his arms behind his back. "From his notes, my best guess is that it is some kind of reality distorter along the space-time continuum."

Ichigo wrinkles his brow. That can't mean what he thinks it does, right?

"A time machine?" he asks almost softly.

"If you want to call it that," Tessai replies and shifts uncomfortably. "I don't know if it works. It requires a massive amount of energy, which I suspect is the reason tenchou never tried it himself. He didn't have the necessary reiatsu."

He's skeptical, but Ichigo takes the device anyway. "Why give it to me?"

Tessai's gaze skitters away. His shoulders droop. The grief is still palpable even four years after the fact.

"He would have wanted you to have it."

Urahara has – had – _has _a dozen or more experiments in his laboratory, some of them finished, some of them not. Tessai could have easily chosen one of those to bring to Ichigo. Instead, he arrives with an item best described as a time machine.

"I see," Ichigo allows. "Thank you, Tessai."

The man nods and excuses himself, heading back to the living world and Uryuu and Jinta, who need him now more than ever. Leaving Ichigo to stare at the device, a wild part of him wondering if it works. An insane part of him wanting to try. A desperate side of him needing it to function.

When has anything of Urahara's ever _failed_?

o0o0o

"We could do it."

Pleading. Begging even.

"We don't even know if it works."

"His inventions _always_ work."

Determination. Need.

"At what cost, Ichigo?"

"I don't know. But I imagine it's not any worse than what we're enduring now."

"We won. That should be enough."

Silence. Pain.

"You know, Shunsui, I'm not entirely sure that we did."

o0o0o

"You're crazy." Rukia shakes her head. "It sounds like suicide. You're going to get yourself killed."

Ichigo listlessly pushes his chopsticks through his food. "I think it'll work."

"And if you fail? What then?" she demands and slams back her sake like its water, like the harsh burn of it doesn't even faze her anymore. "You can't change the past. It's impossible. What happened, happened."

He lifts his eyes. "You don't know that for sure. I have to try. I have to do... _something_."

"No, you don't," Rukia shoots back. Now, she looks pained as she sets down her chopsticks and reaches for his hand, covering it with her warm fingers. "I miss them, too. I want them back more than anything. But not if I have to lose you in the process. I can't do that, Ichigo." Her thumb rubs over the back of his hand, a pale attempt at comforting him. "You don't have to be our hero."

But Ichigo knows the truth. It's not that he doesn't have to be, it's that he couldn't be. That for all the power in the world, he couldn't stop Ulquiorra and his band of Arrancar from wiping out the sixth division. He couldn't prevent Barragan from tearing apart Isshin. He couldn't protect Yachiru from Wonderwice and Tousen.

He hadn't been able to do much of anything.

"Ichigo," Rukia says gently. "Let it go."

He already knows that he can't.

o0o0o

"No one will believe me if I tell them Aizen is going to betray you."

Obvious truth is obvious.

"I know. Besides, we can't be sure the device will go back that far. If your body can sustain that much inertia."

"Later than that then. When I actually have a chance to change something."

A spark of mirth. Of hope.

"Ki-kun will believe you."

"He'll be my first contact."

"You'll need more than that. Find me."

Certainty now.

"You think you'll believe the cocky ryoka? That I'm a visitor from the future."

"I will if you tell me all the things no one else knows."

More mirth. Laughter even.

"...That sounds crazy and convoluted, Shunsui."

"So does this plan. We're still doing it though."

"Yeah. Yeah we are. We have to."

o0o0o

There's nothing to pack, nothing that can go with him. Not even Zangetsu. In the past, Ichigo has his zanpakutou, so he's not worried about that. But there are other things he'd like to take, mementos, items with meaning.

Everything he needs to know, he's memorized. All he needs is Urahara's device, some privacy, and a location that can be destroyed in the off chance the time machine explodes or something similar. There's nothing left to do except go for it.

Ichigo's said his goodbyes. What few there are to make. Rukia's under the impression that he's changed his mind, that she's right and he doesn't need to fix things. She fully believes that he's starting to recover, that he'll get over it, find happiness.

He regrets that he's had to give her that lie.

Yuzu and Karin don't know anything either. Ichigo regrets that he's leaving them, especially now that both Isshin and their mom are gone, but if he fixes the past, they won't have that loneliness anymore. Besides, Tessai will watch over them. Shunsui won't let anything happen to them either. Rukia's all but adopted them; they'll never lack for care.

He'll miss them. He'll miss them most of all. But he has to do this. He has no choice. This victory is anything but. He has to _fix_ things before he goes mad.

Shunsui knows what to do. How long to wait and see if Ichigo's failed. How to follow in Ichigo's footsteps if he must. He's been as coached in how to handle the Ichigo of the past, as much as Ichigo has been instructed about the himself. They've talked this out, over and over, step by step.

Ichigo finds himself at Soukyoku Hill. A fitting place since it is where it began all those years ago. Though Ichigo isn't sure that hill is a suitable name anymore. Not since the Hougyoku's destruction tore a crater in it and blew half of the rock away.

It's warm. Pleasant. A cheery spring day.

Ichigo stands on the edge and looks down at Seireitei or what's left of it. Surveying the destroyed divisions, shattered buildings, the tattered flags and it's even more tattered residents. There is no corner of Soul Society that remains untouched by the war. Not a one. There'd been no escape. Not even the living world had survived unscathed.

And they'd dare name it a victory.

His fingers tighten around Urahara's creation. It's going to work. It has to work. Ichigo won't accept failure. Not in this. Not in himself.

He closes his eyes, feels his reiatsu swirl around him, and pours it and himself into the device. Feels it warm in his fingers, pulse and throb like it has a heartbeat. Something tugs at the very center of his being, between his ribs and below his heart. It pulls him inward and upward and backward.

The world dissolves beneath him, and Ichigo falls into it gladly.

* * *

a/n: I'm sure time-travel fics have been done to death, but this story demanded to be told and I must bow to the muses.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	192. Love the Way You Lie

**Title: Love the Way You Lie **

**Characters: Gin/Byakuya**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: boysex, spoilers**

**Words: 1703**

**Description: Byakuya has words for ears that can no longer hear them. **

**Inspired by "_Love the Way You Lie Part I and II"_ performed by Eminem and Rihanna  
**

* * *

Gin always smells of blood.

He carries the scent of other things as well. Jasmine tea on occasion. A particular perfumed soap that mixes sandalwood and amber. The sharp bite of metal like his zanpakutou. But underneath it all, the bitter flavor of blood clings to Gin's skin like a natural musk.

Byakuya knows this, but he never asks.

Warm lips press against his throat, and Byakuya arches into talented hands. Talented fingers and a talented tongue as his skin is traced in barely present touches. The body pressed against his is warm, not hot like it should be, but hardly touched by warmth as though its natural state is cool, cold to the touch.

His eyes slit open, and he watches Gin from under heavy lids, the fall of silver hair across a pale shoulder, the occasional gleam of nearly-red amber eyes that glance up at him. Byakuya gasps, shivers. His body's coated in sweat, trembling on the cusp of climax. His insides twist with – _want, disgust, need, desire, shame _– a deluge of feelings. He pulses in Gin's grip, and he can feel the long length moving within him, Gin's abnormally thin hips thrusting forward.

Gin smells like blood and tastes like sin. Like everything wrong with the world but right in Byakuya's life. His lips move upward and capture Byakuya's mouth in a harsh kiss, his tongue skilled and nimble. Byakuya's lips part, takes him deep, back arching as each harsh thrust rakes against something pleasurable inside of him.

The heat in his belly has turned into a blaze, and it won't be much longer now. No time at all before the coil within him bursts, and he spills all over Gin's long and thin fingers. He clenches down rhythmically and pulls a groan from Gin's lips. A whisper of something that Byakuya fails to catch with the blood rushing through his ears and the creak of the bed and the rustle of the covers as Byakuya fists them.

The buzz of reiatsu in the room rises to palpable levels, and Byakuya can feel Gin's wash over him, even as his own lifts to meet it. Gin pulls back from the kiss, eyes opening enough that Byakuya can see their color, darkening to blood red in his lust. His hands creep down to Byakuya's hips, gripping firmly, smearing Byakuya's seed all over his skin, but he can't be bothered to care.

He groans, arches his hips, and holds on as Gin slams into him, the wet slap of flesh such a lewd cadence. His family would be horrified, Byakuya knows. If any of them knew, if any of them _guessed_. That Gin is a man is only the start of all the drama. That he's a rat from Rukongai is only the icing of the cake.

That he's here, sullying their heir, sullying their manor, and having the balls to do it in Byakuya's own quarters makes a subtle thrill race through his body. Makes his spent length give a faint twitch of interest, though the rest of him is too exhausted to give it encouragement.

Fingers press into his flesh, a thumb right over his hipbone, and Byakuya watches as Gin sucks in a breath as muscles flex and he thrusts forward. Manipulates Byakuya's body for his pleasure. He's close, Byakuya can see it in the flush on his face, the way his breathing stutters and the jump of the muscle in his jaw.

It is only a moment more before Gin comes with a quiet moan that barely reaches Byakuya's ears, his body shuddering, his fingers rhythmically clenching on the Kuchiki heir's hips. His hips slam against Byakuya's as he spills himself inside, a flush painted across his face and upper chest.

The tremors have hardly ceased before Gin pulls out and blankets Byakuya's body with his own, locking their lips together in a half-desperate kiss. His tongue sweeps inside Byakuya's mouth, that overwhelming scent of jasmine and tea and blood flooding Byakuya's senses. He groans into the kiss, loving the feel of Gin's sweat-slick body pressed to his, all long limbs and angles.

It's always like this. Sharp pleasure that slides into warm contentment, Gin's kisses slow and lazy as their bodies come down from peak. Heart rates slow, breathing evens out, and Byakuya's fingers drag through surprisingly soft, silver hair, slightly damp from sweat. That scent of blood is all the stronger, and Byakuya doesn't ask.

He knows he ought to. Just as much as he knows the answer will end this… _whatever_ he wants to call it.

The kiss ends with a nipping of lips, and then, Gin pulls back, something odd in his expression. Something Byakuya, who's never been that great at human interaction in the first place, cannot identify.

His brow crinkles. "What?" Byakuya asks, voice soft because it feels strange to speak louder. As though doing so will shatter some carefully constructed illusion.

Gin looks at him for a moment longer before he shakes his head and draws away.

"Nothing," he says and sits up, sweeping a hand through his hair. "Ya should get ta sleep. We got that meetin' in the mornin'."

Byakuya frowns. "I haven't forgotten," he says and feels oddly cold. "This is hardly the first time we've had a meeting the next day."

"This time's different," Gin says and slides off the bed. The knobs of his spine are plainly visible to Byakuya, who has to stop himself from reaching out and tracing them with his fingers.

Gin rises to his feet, his back to Byakuya, and there's something strange, something odd going on. He just doesn't know what it is.

"How so?"

He's picking up his clothes, pulling on his shihakushou without bothering to take a bath like he usually does. "It jus' is."

"Gin?"

He's already at the door. Sometimes, he moves faster than Byakuya knows is possible. As though he's using shunpo though Byakuya hadn't felt the reiatsu-evidence of it.

Gin pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and he looks over his shoulder at Byakuya. His expression is unreadable, his eyes shuttered. His hand tells the story, fingers white-knuckled, grip too tight on expertly carved wood.

"Sleep well, Bya-kun. I'll see you in the morning."

He's gone in the next moment. Byakuya does not, for even a second, think of going after him.

It's only after dawn comes that Byakuya realizes he should have.

o0o0o

There will never be a chance to ask the questions that plague his mind. No opportunity to ask the reasons why. No moment to wonder whom he had meant that apology for. No time to ask what had been real and what had been false.

Byakuya stands outside the room that houses what is left of the dead traitors and stares through the thick glass, vibrating from the tension of the kidoh placed on it. No one's been allowed to go in until the captain-commander decides what to do with their enemies.

Usually, there's a guard at the door.

Tonight, there isn't.

Byakuya isn't going to go inside. He has no desire to be surrounded by those corpses held in stasis, physical proof of Gin's betrayal and abandonment. He has no wish to stand next to Gin's body, heart clenching all over again, forcing himself not to demand answers from someone who can't give them.

He's fine right here, standing at the small window, and looking. Better not to tempt himself into acting like a fool.

Byakuya honestly doesn't know if it's better this way. That he never had to face Gin in battle. That he'd fallen while Byakuya had still been within Hueco Mundo.

Perhaps things are much better this way.

Matsumoto-fukutaichou tells him – when he asks, pretending a clinical interest - that Gin hadn't intended to betray them. That he'd only wanted to seek revenge against Aizen. That he'd had to turn his back on everyone to do it, that he'd done it for her.

Where then, Byakuya wonders, does that leave him?

Something inside of him clenches. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slow and steady.

Losing Hisana had been difficult. Why Byakuya had allowed himself to drown in Gin's affection, he'll never know. And look what it brought him. Nothing but more misery.

He'd never asked. Perhaps he should have.

_Why do you smell like blood, Gin? What are you doing when I'm not around? _

He'll never get his chance. He can only stand here, staring through thick glass, at his lover's body and wonder. Feel the weight of the loss on his shoulders. Anger that has ebbed away to hurt and longing. Regret that sweeps over him in the dead of the night when he wakes with damp eyes and dreams that feel all too real.

What would've happened, Byakuya wonders, if he had chased after Gin that night? If he had grabbed his lover by the arm and demanded answers. Demanded to know why Gin was acting oddly – even more so than is usual for him. If he had pressed Gin for answers, would his lover had given them?

Were they even truly lovers?

Byakuya drags in a shuddering breath and turns away from the window, from the room itself. He can't stand here anymore. Can't stand here considering _what if _and _why didn't I_ and _I should have. _It'll break him, and he's not going to allow that again.

All he can do is quietly pick up the pieces, move on like the rest of Seireitei stumbling around in a fog, not sure what to do with their newly won peace. Perhaps he'll take Matsumoto-fukutaichou up on her hesitantly offered meeting to share some sake.

He leaves without saying a word, as quietly as he had come. He doesn't have a wish to offer; they've never been granted before. He doesn't have an apology; he's not the one who left. He doesn't have words to say; Gin can no longer hear them.

* * *

a/n: Something about Ichimaru Gin brings out all the best angst in me. I do hope you liked.

Coming up next, the second third of _Past Imperfect, _in which we find out if Ichigo's plan worked.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	193. Past Imperfect Epitasis

a/n: As promised, here is the second part of _Past Imperfect_**.  
**

**Title: Past Imperfect (Epitasis)**

**Characters: Ichigo, Urahara, ensemble**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: character death, angst, AU-ish**

**Words: 7012  
**

**Description: Ichigo abandons his future and heads into the past with one goal in mind – save Urahara Kisuke. **

* * *

He wakes to bright sunlight slanting into his eyes, nearly blinding him. Ichigo flinches, rolls away from the brightness, and nearly topples off his bed. He feels awkward, unattached, his limbs not obeying him and his skin itchy.

Skin.

Ichigo bolts upward, memories of the last twenty-four hours unfurling inside of him in a flash. He has skin again. He's back in his body, which he hasn't touched in more than three years, not since it was all but vaporized in one of the Arrancar's attacks. It feels weird though, his spirit not settling into all the places right. Tight and unyielding, like a new pair of jeans.

And it itches. Horribly.

Absently, Ichigo drags his fingernails over his shoulder, where it seems to tingle and twitch the most, as his eyes roam over his surroundings. He's in his bedroom, in the Kurosaki household, and it looks like he remembers it did. Like five years in the past before it was destroyed.

How far back had Kisuke's machine taken him?

Ichigo swings his legs over the side of the bed, flings his covers aside, and rises to his feet. Sways a little. His head throbs, and he feels a bit dizzy. It takes a moment to recover. Things aren't quite the same. His body feels younger, lighter, but heavier, too. Heavier now that it's real flesh and blood as opposed to his Shinigami form.

Suddenly, he can't wait to be out of his skin.

He needs a calendar. Ichigo moves unsteadily to his desk, paws through school papers and miscellaneous other things, until he finds it.

He sucks in a breath. One. Two. Gives a grin that would put his Hollow to shame and uses all of his self-control not to laugh wickedly and with unholy glee.

Perfection. Absolutely perfect. He has all the time he needs. He's in his past. Just after rescuing Rukia and returning to the living world. And if he remembers correctly, it's roughly a week before Shinji will show up at his school and wreak havoc on Ichigo's sanity.

Another grin then. Feral. Dangerous.

His eyes flick to his clock then, and his expression sobers to something bordering on normal. He should be getting ready for school right now, but it can wait. Five years from now, whatever calculus he's going to learn won't do him any good. He hadn't graduated high school then; it won't help him now. What he really needs is to find Urahara and as soon as possible.

Nodding to himself, Ichigo gets in motion. He showers quickly, still bothered by his skin and even more bothered by the raised marks his fingernails leave across his arms and thighs. He's got to stop doing that, or people will get suspicious.

Ichigo can't afford for them to be suspicious.

They have to trust him. Believe in him. If he's going to save their lives, he has to do this right, or it will all fall apart and dying in the future will be for naught.

It's weird though. When he pauses to look at himself in the mirror, he knows logically that he is the same person. But it feels too much like he's staring at a stranger. His eyes are the same color, but they look darker and more haunted. His face has more youth, but something in it speaks of age. He wonders if anyone will notice the differences.

Ichigo forgoes meeting his family for their usual breakfast madness. He doesn't think he can pull it off yet. He simply clambers out of his window, drops soundlessly to the ground, and creeps through the yard. No one spots him, much to his relief, and he's quick to set his destination for the Urahara Shouten.

Urahara Kisuke is about to get the shock of his life.

o0o0o

Ichigo drinks in the sight of him, trying to pretend he's not staring, but he's just watching a very alive Urahara putter about his shouten as though it were a novel thing. For Ichigo, it is. He still remembers the broken and battered mess that had been Urahara after Halibel had stabbed him though the back. He still remembers the sharp odor of blood, the torn clothing, the empty shell without a single buzz of reiatsu, the even emptier sheath where Benihime had melted away to nothing...

Seeing him now, alive and well, makes that memory even stronger in the back of Ichigo's mind. He stares at blond hair as though it's a new color, memorizes the shade of Urahara's eyes, watches the familiar way he moves. Like he's a ninja, like he's been trained to keep to the shadows because he _had_ been. Ichigo watches, and he aches. As much as he is relieved, and the contradiction is enough to stutter his thoughts and coherency.

He's come here with a thousand things to say, and suddenly, none of them are enough. He ends up blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, lacking in tact but then, Ichigo doesn't have enough time for tact. In a week, perhaps a day or more beyond that, Aizen will be taking Inoue. Ichigo has to have a workable plan before then.

"Tell me about the Maggot's Nest."

There's a clatter as Urahara nearly drops the tray with its tea and cookies. He is, however, graceful enough to stop himself from making a mess and manages to land said tray on the tabletop, only having to rescue the tipped over cups. He looks at Ichigo, blinking, eyes unreadable behind his mask.

"Pardon?" Urahara's surprised, trying not to show it, trying to cling to his element of mystery.

Seeing him alive like this... it _hurts_. It makes something inside of Ichigo clench. His palms are on his thighs, fingers digging into muscle, forcing himself to stay seated rather than embrace the man who had been something of a friend. Perhaps even Ichigo's best friend as war came upon them and Ichigo realized that for all his human friends were the same age, that they were very much still children on the inside. Hell, even Renji and Rukia were to an extent, though in different ways.

But Urahara… Ichigo doubts he was ever a kid. Ever a little boy. And he understood Ichigo in a way the others never did. Understood that no one was more afraid of Ichigo's Hollow than Ichigo himself. Understood that even heroes needed to be saved sometimes. Understood… _everything_.

And now, he's here. He's alive.

Ichigo will be damned if he can't keep Kisuke that way.

"You heard me," Ichigo says and lifts his own gaze, meeting grey eyes squarely. There's no better way to do this than to be blunt. "The Maggot's Nest. Or better yet, don't tell me because I already know. Like how you used to be Yoruichi-san's third-seat. Or how Hiyori used to be your lieutenant and Kurotsuchi your flunky. Or the real reason you were exiled from Soul Society."

He never thought he'd get to see Urahara Kisuke speechless, but sure enough, that is what has happened. Kisuke has gone pale as he sits back on his and stares at Ichigo as though he's never seen anything like him before.

"How do you know that?" Kisuke demands as though he's abandoned all his usual attempts at subtly. He doesn't even try to deny it.

Ichigo sighs, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. "You told me."

"No, I did not," Kisuke retorts, almost a touch annoyed. "And I highly doubt Tessai told you. Or Yoruichi-san. _How do you know that_?" There's a touch of desperation to his tone, but Ichigo knows that Kisuke is too controlled to fall into hysteria.

"I answered that already. You told me," Ichigo says, and lets his reiatsu start to unfurl, slowly and carefully, a background sensation to the truth that spills from his lips. "You want to know how I know, Kisuke? We _lost_."

Then he looks up, lets Kisuke see in his eyes all the grief and desperation that had borne using that device.

He earns a sucked in breath. Kisuke swallows. Once. Twice. Executes a slow blink, horror and confusion and curiosity mingling as the full weight of Ichigo's incredibly advanced reiatsu rolls over him.

"Could... could you repeat that?" he asks, breathless.

"We lost," Ichigo repeats and doesn't flinch at the small lie. To him, that was no victory; there was nothing left to celebrate. "And you had a time machine."

Kisuke's jaw drops. "I..." he pauses, leans back, rubbing fingers across his forehead. "Impossible. You... that's just _impossible_."

"And yet, here I am." Ichigo spreads his hands, trying to be patient but feeling the noose of time wrapped around his neck. "I'd show you the device, but it didn't exactly come with me. And there are lots of things I could tell you to convince you, but we really don't have the time."

"Time...?"

Kisuke sounds lost, confused even, as he stares at Ichigo, uncomprehending.

Ichigo rockets to his feet, unable to keep sitting. He feels restless, jittery, his reiatsu coiling in and around him in anxious swirls.

"In less than a week, Aizen will make his move. I have to be ready by then. I can't let him win this time. I won't let him win."

The last is more of a hiss, a promise to himself if no one else.

Within him, both Zangetsu and Shirosaki snarl in agreement. Yes, even his Hollow. He no more approved of the future they left behind than Ichigo did.

"_Lifeless_," his Hollow had hissed at him. "_Boring. Pointless. It's always raining, and there's nothin' so miserable, boss_."

Frankly, Ichigo was inclined to agree.

Kisuke looks at him. Stares at his eyes and then his face. Tastes the curl of his reiatsu.

"...What did you have in mind?"

With a softly drawn breath, Ichigo tells him.

o0o0o

Meeting Shinji for the first – _second_ – time is interesting. And the moment Ichigo displays his ability to control his Hollow, even beyond what Mashiro is capable of, he knows that the man is impressed. He remains as skeptical and a bit suspicious of how quickly Ichigo mastered himself, but with Kisuke having Ichigo's back, Shinji seems willing to give Ichigo the benefit of the doubt.

A plan is borne, carefully with much room for flexibility, but the fact that Ichigo is amassing allies is good enough for him. He has no intentions of seeing the Vizard fall to Aizen again. The first time is enough, and it's hard to keep his emotions handled when he's looking into the faces of people who might as well be ghosts.

Gaining Shinji as an ally is the first step of many that Ichigo and Shunsui had outlined in the future, Ichigo's present. His next move is to speak with Shunsui himself, hopefully to convince he and Ukitake both of the truth. Ichigo will need their support if he hopes to have a shred of a chance in succeeding.

o0o0o

"You realize that you sound... completely insane," Ukitake-san says gently, wincing as though his words are too harsh for him to bear.

Ichigo chuckles, but can't hide the bitterness in his tone.

"I do," he allows and feels Kisuke squeeze his shoulder for support. "But I have an ace up my sleeve."

He watches as the two friends – like brothers really – exchange a glance, speaking without the need for words. He watches them and feels his heart clench. There is something incredibly unsettling about seeing Ukitake-san alive again, about seeing a Shunsui who is not weighted down by the stress and grief that Aizen's war had caused.

A week after waking in the past, Ichigo still feels as though he's walking in the midst of the Twilight Zone. Struggling against fate to fix the present before it becomes the future.

"An ace?" Ukitake-san repeats and sounds confused.

"Yeah." Ichigo grins, leaning forward and bearing his weight on his elbows. "We made sure that I'd have something to convince you. Something like who _really_ cut Yama-jii's beard off in your second year. Or what actually happened to someone's favorite yukata. And a certain birthmark on the back of a certain Kuchiki. Or that time you stole Unohana-san's kimono to-"

Shunsui gasps. "But not even Jyuu knows about that one!"

Ukitake-san gives him a look. "I soon will."

Shunsui wilts like a flower denied water. He gives Ichigo a pout that's so familiar Ichigo feels his heart clench, and it's only Kisuke's hand on his shoulder that keeps him in his seat.

Ukitake-san and Shunsui exchange a glance.

"Yes," Shunsui inserts both hastily. "We see what you mean now. There's no reason to go into detail."

Ichigo steadies himself and arches his brow. "I could. Especially about the koi pond and what really happened to all the fish."

Ukitake, a faint burn in his cheeks, looks at his best friend. "We think it's better if you don't."

Leaning back, Shunsui's gaze shifts to Ichigo, looking him over from head to toe as though in deep consideration. "This still sounds farfetched," he says, stroking his chin scruff. "But I'm willing to trust you. And Ki-kun seems convinced. What do you need from us?"

Their reiatsu still shimmers with disbelief, but Ichigo knows that will change in time. They believe him for now, and that is what matters.

The pieces have been laid, and Ichigo is shifting them into proper position. He now has only to wait for Aizen to make his move. And then, the real battle can begin.

o0o0o

The largest issue with time travel, Ichigo reasons, is understanding at what point changes could or even should be made. Trying to decide what he should allow to happen and what he should prevent. How much can he change before he alters what he remembers of the past, before his knowledge becomes obsolete.

What will he have to sacrifice? Who?

How many lies will he have to tell? How many can he save?

Worse, it all starts to jumble up in his memories. The past he's lived through once. The present he's experiencing again. The future he's trying to avoid.

He can't tell everyone the truth. He can't let anyone realize how much he knows. He has to pretend he's not as powerful as he actually is. He has to fake struggling to control his Hollow and pretend that he's not capable of easily defeating most of the captains of the Gotei 13. He has to look at his friends and family and allies and not see the faces of the dead in them. He has to pretend that everything is normal, no matter how difficult that be.

Ichigo starts to wonder what's real and what's illusion. He starts to feel like he's playing one of those role-playing video games. That it's not his life but someone else's, and he's just moving his pieces – characters – as they are designed to be deployed.

He and Shunsui hadn't outlined step by step what Ichigo should do. He knows, above all, that saving Kisuke is paramount. But what about everyone else? Can he just stand here and watch them fall, too?

Does he dare change it?

These questions and more haunt Ichigo's thoughts, invade his dreams, take over his daytime hours. He plots and plans and worries and wonders, all the while feeling Kisuke watching him. Yet, he doesn't dare ask for advice.

There's a reason he's shared very little of the specifics about the future. And sometimes, the truth is worse than any lie. Sometimes, it makes a person break and bleed and die, while the lie can save him. Sometimes, the truth just damns them all.

Time ticks on.

o0o0o

Ichigo studies the board, brow furrowed in concentration, fingers rubbing over his jawline as he considers. Right now, his queen is vulnerable within a few moves, but if Kisuke goes after it, he'll leave his king open to take.

Kisuke is prone to risks in many things, but he's always been one for observation first. To watch and wait and plot before making his move. Ichigo remembers this all too well.

Ironically, right now, he knows Kisuke far better than Kisuke knows him back. He has the advantage of years spent fighting next to each other, guarding each other's backs, and helping to patch wounds. He knows how Kisuke thinks. He's spent long hours in conversation with this man. Slept next to him in some truly awful places. Had his back in others.

Ichigo lifts a hand, reaching for his bishop. His fingers hover over the piece – white as per Kisuke's choice. Though he knows his friend will come to regret that as soon as Ichigo beats him again.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Kisuke asks, sounding a touch amused, but there's no hiding the surprise in his reiatsu. He's never seen Ichigo have much aptitude for strategy before.

But then, war changes people in a lot of ways. And _this_ Ichigo has never been seen by Kisuke before either.

"It depends," the younger man counters and lifts his gaze. "Do you want to lose quickly, or should I drag it out so you can feel like you're winning?"

Kisuke scoffs. But there's a look in gray eyes that prove he's impressed – and a bit shocked.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

They both pause then, however. Feeling a familiar swirl of frazzled reiatsu, and Ichigo unconsciously schools his expression before the door to the room can even open with a loud thud. Both Kisuke and Ichigo's eyes sweep over, finding a very worried Rukia standing there, Renji peering over her shoulder.

Ichigo's heart gives a painful beat before returning to normal. He knows why they're here.

"What is it?" Kisuke questions, straightening, the game forgotten.

Rukia hesitates. Her face is paler than usual, and her grip on her zanpakutou is white-knuckled.

"It's Inoue," she murmurs, looking at Ichigo. "She's gone."

Silence then.

"What do you mean gone?"

Kisuke rises to his feet and tips back his hat. His face is still unreadable.

Ichigo follows but much slower. He'd known this would have happened. He could have stopped it. But he hadn't.

Aizen doesn't mean Inoue any harm after all. It's all bait. One that Ichigo plans to take as there are things he must do in Hueco Mundo. For now, however, it's best to pretend ignorance. Especially for Rukia and Renji. They have no clue, no idea who and what he really is.

And Ichigo can't tell them that it's all part of the plan either.

o0o0o

"You knew this was going to happen," Kisuke accuses from where he stands in the doorway. His arms are folded over his chest as he watches Ichigo get ready for their trip into Hueco Mundo.

Inoue must be rescued after all.

Ichigo glances upward, reading irritation and no small amount of hurt. "Yes," he replies and returns his attention to Zangetsu's hilt, where he tightens the cloth wrapping around it.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I needed it to happen," Ichigo offers after a minute of internal debate. He could, of course, lie. Claim that he wasn't certain exactly when it would happen or reason that it couldn't have been prevented either way.

However, Ichigo feels compelled to give Kisuke the truth. He's not sure why. Perhaps it's because he wants _someone_ to understand Ichigo's dilemma. Where he's coming from. The weight that rests on his shoulders.

The blond all but gapes at him.

"You... _what_?"

"Needed it to happen," he repeats without even looking up. "I needed a reason to go to Hueco Mundo." Ichigo fidgets with the collar of his shihakushou and turns toward Kisuke, slinging his sword back into position. "There's something I have to do there if we're going to win this time around."

A wave of startled reiatsu sweeps over Ichigo. It's brief but knife-sharp.

"You let your friend get taken because it suited the bigger picture."

Kisuke sounds absolutely stunned, but there's something else to his voice. Something with an edge, a bite. And it isn't just realizing that he indeed would've lost the chess game either.

"It's more complicated than that." Ichigo sighs and steps closer to the man, who without wearing his geta, is still taller than him. He won't be forever though, Ichigo knows. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Aizen won't hurt her; she's only bait. That's all she was ever meant to be."

Kisuke's eyes narrow, and his reiatsu abruptly vanishes, clamped down by incredible will power. His gaze is sharp, assessing. Looking at Ichigo like he's just now really seeing him. As if he finally does see the man and not the boy.

"Bait for what?" he asks softly, but Ichigo can tell that his brain is already turning. Already fitting the pieces together.

Ichigo shrugs. "It doesn't matter now. It won't work anyway."

He shakes his head and steps around his best friend, thoughts abuzz, plans coalescing as quickly as they are dismissed. He has to play this _right_, or it will fail. _He _will fail.

"Just trust me," he says, and it isn't quite a plea.

"You know that I do." Kisuke's reply chases him down the hallway, sounding almost hurt. "But you don't tell me nearly enough to justify it."

Ichigo doesn't pause. "I can't."

That is all he can muster for an explanation, or he'll be here all afternoon. And right now, Inoue is waiting for a rescue, and Ichigo intends to oblige.

o0o0o

Ichigo's not sure who he startles more when he goes after Halibel with murderous intent: Halibel herself or the now bug-eyed Rukia. Both just stare at him in utter shock.

If he has a flicker of guilt for attacking without mercy, for cutting Haliel down as though she were nothing more than an animal, Ichigo lets it come and go. He feels it, lets it fester for all of five seconds, then tucks it away deep inside. Bigger picture. Lives to save.

And really, there is something like satisfaction here. She may not have done it yet in this time, but she stole from Ichigo earlier. She took his friend. She hurt him. She killed him.

Ichigo is just repaying the favor.

Halibel crumbles in a gurgle of blood, reiatsu flaring out in surprise, fingers clutching weakly. Ichigo doesn't give her a chance to draw upon her power, doesn't allow her that extra breath. There's too much at stake here. And he's so much stronger than her now.

Though for the sake of the others, he'll claim element of surprise. He'll claim _something_.

They'll probably worry about him later. This is Ichigo's first true kill. Ichigo of this particular timeline anyway. The current Ichigo who inhabits the past, however, can no longer count the bodies to his name. In Aizen's long war, Ichigo had been forced to abandon his childhood, his innocence, and what that war left him with can no longer be called Kurosaki Ichigo.

He became something else. Someone else.

But that's okay; he can fix things now. He's the only one who can, the only one who will make the difficult choices.

Zangetsu rises and falls again, blood arcing upward in a harsh spray of crimson. Halibel is still, scarlet soaking the white sands of Hueco Mundo. And before Ichigo's eyes, her body fades to a dark ash.

Years later, he's sure, he'll come back to this place and the sand here will still be stained that tainted black. A morbid thought. But still a satisfying one. Kisuke's bloodstains had lingered, too.

Ichigo straightens, lowering Zangetsu, listening to the soft drip-drip of blood onto the sand. He doesn't even need to turn around. He knows his voice will carry.

"Aizen doesn't care about you," he murmurs. "You're nothing but fodder to him." He looks over his shoulder then, meeting Stark's startled gaze. "Die for him if you want to. But there's always another option. There's always _my _side."

Stark barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. "With the Shinigami? You _must_ be a fool."

Ichigo reaches down. He grips Grimmjow's body by the tattered remains of his overcoat and swings the unconscious Espada over his shoulder.

"I didn't say the Shinigami. I said _me_." His smile is fierce but genuine enough. Thankfully, Rukia can't see it. "There's a difference, _amigo_."

Turning his back on the shocked Espada, he calmly strides over to where his friends are waiting for him. Ichigo takes his time though. He knows that Stark won't attack him; he has too much to chew on right now.

His friends just gape at him and then each other.

They are all worse for wear. Renji barely survived his battle against Szayel; only Kurotsuchi's interference saved him from that terrible fate. It didn't go so well for Kurotsuchi himself, but Ichigo doesn't consider him a great loss, not knowing what he does about the man's future. Ishida delivered the final blow on Szayel, however, and of all of them, he looks the most intact.

Rukia is battered and bleeding, but there's a certain edge of triumph in her eyes. Glee at acquiring revenge over Shiba Kaien's killer no doubt.

Byakuya and Kenpachi are staring, the former with a coldness glazing over his expression. The latter with hungry intent in Stark's direction, as though he has every intention of testing the Arrancar's mettle.

But they have what they came here for. They have Inoue in hand, currently being looked over by Unohana-san.

They've all survived, and Ichigo's only changing a few key things. He's saving Grimmjow, and he's killed Halibel. Hopefully, the past will remain in line with that he knows. Hopefully, he can still make this work.

"Let's go," Ichigo says.

Mercifully, no one argues with him, though he can see it building in their eyes. Can see the way Byakuya clamps his mouth shut, the tight lines of disapproval around his eyes.

They'll be suspicious, but they won't believe the truth. For now.

Ichigo can still do this.

o0o0o

For a few months, all is silent. Aizen is licking his wounds, ever plotting in the background, recovering from the loss of five of his Espada. Ichigo knows it won't remain that way for long, and he resolves to prepare the Shinigami and his friends for the war's escalation that's soon to come.

They have new allies, hesitantly accepted by the Gotei 13, but it's not their decision to make. It's not Yamamoto's place. Technically, they are on Ichigo's team, not under the jurisdiction of Seireitei. Grimmjow and Stark are Ichigo's allies, along with Neliel, and Ichigo has no intention of letting Yamamoto throw them in prison or dispatch them because of their origins.

So far, everything is going to plan.

Kisuke gave him strange looks when Ichigo showed him the Arrancar joining their ranks, but he hadn't argued. More than anything, he'd seemed intrigued. Calculating as his eyes went from Stark to Grimmjow and strayed back to Ichigo.

Besides, Ichigo still has two more things to address before Aizen's inevitable backlash. More demons to be rid of. More souls to save.

Kenpachi's empty eyes and Kira's blood-covered body are all too fresh to him, all too painful. He knows their fates can be avoided; all it will take is a little nudging.

A gentle if firm lesson.

o0o0o

Kenpachi is the easiest to find. All Ichigo has to do is challenge him to a playful duel, and Kenpachi shows up in the practice arena ten minutes too early and reiatsu flaring around him like a rabid dog waiting for the cage fight.

Yachiru is perched on his shoulder, perky and alive, and the sight of her is enough to make Ichigo's heartache. Her face reminds him of the reason Ichigo took this path. Not just for Kisuke but also for _her_.

And more than anything, she's just a little girl who doesn't deserve to die shrieking.

Ichigo doesn't waste time with words. He knows Kenpachi understands action better than any other method. Ichigo will get his point across in the best way for Kenpachi to comprehend the severity of the situation.

He attacks, a kidoh on the fingertips of one hand, Zangetsu gripped in the other. Yachiru leaps from Kenpachi's shoulder with an excited bounce, not quite understanding how seriously Ichigo is taking this mock-duel. He almost regrets having to teach Kenpachi this lesson in front of his daughter.

The first kidoh, a higher level offensive blast that Kisuke has _no_ idea Ichigo has learned, strikes Kenpachi in the face. Ichigo knows it to be more distracting than harming and swoops inward, unsurprised when Kenpachi still manages to block Zangetsu. Their blades meet with a bone-shuddering clash. Ichigo whirls away, impossibly fast, faster than Kenpachi has ever known him to be without bankai. He flares his reiatsu, draws on Shirosaki's power without having to summon his mask, and slashes at Kenpachi from behind. Blood wells in the shallow wound, and the massive captain stumbles.

Ichigo doesn't give him time to catch his breath. To blink or so much as comprehend what is happening.

He attacks again, vicious slices, the same an enemy might use. One who's stronger and faster and has no qualms about killing his opponent. This is no game to Ichigo. This is a lesson that Kenpachi must learn.

Ichigo can't bear to see the past repeat itself.

The spar is over brutally quick. Ichigo allows himself to tap into the skills he picked up in the future if only to make things end even sooner. And when he stands over a bleeding, shocked Kenpachi, he has to hide his own flinch. He doesn't like the look Kenpachi is giving him. A wariness like prey cornered.

Still. This must be done. For both of them.

Ichigo is barely wounded, and as he speaks, each word feels like a harsh critique.

"I've got you down. Defeated. At my mercy and at the tip of my sword." To prove his point, he lets Zangetsu rest over Kenpachi's jugular, not enough to cut but enough to warn. "And now what do you think is going to happen? What do you think will happen to _her_ when I kill you?"

His gaze cuts to Yachiru, who is watching them with wide eyes. She must realize by now that this is not a game.

"Do think Aizen will care that she's a little girl?" Ichigo asks again, purely rhetorical as he has a decent idea of what Kenpachi's answer would be. "He doesn't follow your rules. He won't agree to fight alone. He'll stab you in the back as surely as he slice you down from the front. He has friends. Or minions at least. What about you?"

Kenpachi twitches. "Make your point," he grits out, all bluster, fingers spasming as though desperate to grip his yet-nameless sword and cut Ichigo down.

There is every possibility Ichigo has just sundered a friendship irreparably. But he can bear it if it means saving Yachiru's life. If it means saving them both.

"Learn to play better with others," Ichigo puts in bluntly. "You're strong. But there's always someone stronger. What's worth more to you? Her? Or your pride?"

He takes a step back, removing his foot from Kenpachi's chest and Zangetsu from the man's throat.

"Think about it."

Ichigo sheathes his blade, drawing his reiatsu back toward himself, locking it within his control. He wonders if Kenpachi had noticed the hint of Hollow he allowed to leak through.

Kenpachi sits up, gingerly though, and stares up at Ichigo with one eye. Not furious but considering. Yachiru bounces up to his side, avoiding a nasty cut to climb up on his shoulder, she too gazes at Ichigo. But it's with a wariness that wasn't there before.

Ichigo doesn't dare say anything else. Nor does he have to.

He's made his point.

o0o0o

Kira has it in him to be not only a great man but a powerful fighter. What he lacks is self-confidence, the last _push_ to cross the boundary between shikai and bankai. And Ichigo knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if Kira hopes to survive this war, he'll need his bankai. Nothing less than it will be able to take down Ichimaru.

Luckily, Kira is capable of listening to reason, so Ichigo has no need to challenge him to a near death match to get him to understand. However, a certain amount of... _misleading_ is still required. Kira needs a push; Ichigo is willing to give him one and a kick to the ass besides.

Even if it takes a lie to do it.

The door to the office is open. Nevertheless, Ichigo raps his knuckles against the frame to announce his presence.

"Come in," Kira says without so much as glancing up from his paperwork. He seems tired, the circles under his eyes even darker and the lines in his face aging him considerably. He hunches more than usual, which effectively makes him smaller and more timid, too.

Ichigo bites back a sigh.

"Busy?"

There's a moment where Kira continues to write fervently before he sets aside the brush and looks up. "I can take a break," he replies and then frowns. "Is something wrong?"

Ichigo shifts, effecting discomfort. He really is getting too good at this. Especially when he doesn't even have to try anymore.

"Not wrong really," he begins, tone purposefully vague. "Just... something I think you need to know."

Kira straightens. "Regarding what?"

"Ichimaru."

Ichigo doesn't miss the subtle flinch in Kira's expression. Nor the way the lieutenant quickly tries to hide it behind a veil of nonchalance.

"What about him?" Kira inquires, but he can't hide the tremor in his reiatsu either. His hands vanish from the desktop, likely to rest on his lap where Ichigo can't see.

"I saw him when I went to Hueco Mundo," Ichigo lies flawlessly. "Only for a second. But it was enough."

He surprises himself with how easily the falsehood comes to him. But then again, all he's been doing lately is dropping lie after lie. It's become second nature.

Particularly when he goes in for the kill.

"He told me to give you a message."

Blue eyes widen before narrowing into a hard gleam. "Did he now?"

There's an edge to Kira's voice, one that Ichigo approves of. The steel will is there. Ichigo only needs to draw it out.

He nods slowly. "It's not exactly friendly."

"I wouldn't expect so." The blond's jaw sets. "And what did my ex-captain have to say?" He sets his hands back on the desk, under control now.

This is the hardest part.

It took several days for Ichigo to come up with the right phrasing. Something that's inciting without being openly derogatory and yet sound enough like Ichimaru that Kira could be fooled. Luckily, he also has prior experience to draw upon. Able to recall the taunts Ichimaru had given on the battlefield all that time ago.

Ichigo inhales.

"_Do ya miss me yet, Izuru," _he recites, as though repeating something verbatim. "_Be seeing ya soon_."

Ichigo's gaze wanders away to the window. As though he's embarrassed to relate this obvious taunt. But he doesn't mix the flare of humiliated-fury in Kira's reiatsu. Nor does he miss the hiss of indrawn breath.

"I see," Kira offers after a long moment of silence. "Thank you for telling me, Kurosaki-san, though I wonder why you would."

Another lie tumbles easily from Ichigo's lips.

"I have the feeling Ichimaru has a personal interest in taking you out, and I don't want to see that happen." He gives a shake of his head. "You… You're stronger than that. Than him."

A small bark of bitter laughter escapes Kira before the rest of his emotions are swept behind a careful mask.

"When have I ever been stronger than that man's manipulations?"

And now, to dangle the carrot.

Ichigo takes this opportunity to cross the floor and lean forward across the desk. "You are right now," he says to the shocked widening of Kira's eyes. "He can only kick you around if you let him."

"How do you know that?"

It isn't a demand. But it isn't dismissive either. Kira is actually listening.

"I've seen you sparring. With that Hisagi guy. With Renji. You could take them both out if you wanted. Renji is crap at strategy, and you're just plain stronger than Hisagi. The only thing Ichimaru has over you is bankai, but you could get yours too if you wanted it badly enough" Ichigo lowers his voice then, shifting to something more urging, more coaxing. "Don't let him win, Kira. Prove to him that you're not the boy he thinks he left behind."

He leaves Kira with that suggestion percolating in his brain. It might take a day or two to work all the way in, but Ichigo knows he's already won this round. He can see it in Kira's eyes.

Ichigo thinks he'll have bankai within weeks. Kira was close enough already.

And just wait until Ichimaru and Aizen see it. Neither will know what hit them.

o0o0o

"I'm worried. He's... _different_."

"What do you mean?"

Ichigo pauses at the top of the staircase, hand on the railing, listening to the familiar voice as it floats up to him from the vague direction of the living room. Why is Kisuke here? And talking to his father for that matter? Isshin still isn't aware that Ichigo knows him to be a Shinigami.

Then again, Isshin also thinks Ichigo is still "out" and wouldn't be able to sense his son's reiatsu anyway. He's gotten too talented at concealing it.

Ichigo hears Isshin sigh. "It's hard to put into words. He's been different since this whole war started, but lately... I don't know. He's rarely home, and when he is here, he's locked up in his room. Also, I can't feel him anymore. It's like he's not even there at all."

"That gigai I gave you isn't the best, Isshin. Perhaps that's why you can't sense him. You really need to let me upgrade it."

"That's not the problem, and you know it. I'm not stupid, Kisuke. He's not here because he's spending all his time at your place. What I want to know is why."

Ichigo debates interrupting, but to be honest, he wants to see how Kisuke handles this. He hasn't explicitly said that he doesn't want anyone to know about what he's doing. But he suspects Kisuke will understand the implications nonetheless.

He dares taking another step, carefully avoiding the creaky board, just enough that he can peer into the room. They won't see him, however, unless they are actually looking for him.

Kisuke is rubbing a hand down his face as he speaks.

"-tell you. It's not my secret. Your best guess is to ask him, but I know you won't do that."

A look of both guilt and discomfort flickers across Isshin's face; he visibly shifts.

"The time isn't right yet."

"The time's never going to be right, Isshin. You'll keep putting it off until it's too late. I know you."

Isshin's jaw sets with stubbornness. "That's why I asked you to look out for him."

"Exactly." Kisuke throws his hands into the air, a clear sign of growing aggravation, to which Ichigo can relate. Dealing with Isshin often makes him irritated, too. "And right now, Ichigo's got my loyalty. For too many reasons, most of which I can't tell you."

A long silence sweeps through the room. Isshin folds his arms over his chest, giving Kisuke a measuring look. Ichigo can't guess what's going through his father's head.

In the past, they never got a chance to sit down and talk about the whole war and Shinigami business. Not like Ichigo wanted to anyway. He loves his father, but Isshin is Isshin, and that's explanation enough.

Finally, Isshin huffs a breath.

"There's something going on. I don't know what it is, but I can guess it's serious. Just..." Isshin shakes his head. "Just watch over him for me."

"At this point, you don't even have to ask."

Ichigo turns and heads back up the stairs, contemplating their conversation. Isshin is growing suspicious, which is understandable. But Ichigo knows there's no possible way he can explain this to his father. Isshin wouldn't understand. And he definitely wouldn't approve of all the actions Ichigo is taking. He wouldn't be able to see the larger picture.

He wouldn't understand that what lives within his son's sixteen-year old body is the soul of a man nearly thirty. A man who survived Aizen's war, if only barely, and had to watch most of his friends and loved ones die.

Right now, Ichigo is the man who will win this war, and Isshin won't understand what his son will have to do to make that happen. He won't understand the need for _whatever it takes. _

Even if he has to make sacrifices to do it.

* * *

a/n: One more part left in _Past Imperfect_. I welcome all feedback, theories, etc. I went with a slightly darker take on a time travel fic. I hope that it pleases.


	194. Nobody's Victim

a/n: Read the warnings, please. If you read my fic _Buyer's Remorse_, then you should be able to handle this one just fine. But it is dark. And creepy. And has something like torture in it. And nonexplicit noncon. Serious stuff. I've warned you. Be warned.**  
**

**Title: Nobody's Victim**

**Characters: Yumichika, Ikkaku, Yumichika/?**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: almost character death, nonexplicit noncon, something like torture, slash, het**

**Words: 5,614**

**Description: Friends will kill for you. Best friends will help hide the bodies.**

* * *

He wakes to the sun slanting in his eyes, hot on his face and making him squint. He wakes with fuzz adorning his memories and a distinct sensation of _wrongness_. It's heightened by the fact he's absolutely and irrevocably _late_.

Yumichika throws back the blankets and rolls out of bed, groaning at the stiffness in his limbs and the strange fatigue that folds over him, head to toe. His head is a pounding-pulse of dull agony, and his eyes are gummy. His hair is a tangled bird's nest, he's nude, and for some reason, he feels sticky. Like he fell asleep before washing properly.

Belly churning, Yumichika staggers to his feet. Coherence slowly returns. His futon is an absolute mess. His shihakushou has been scattered haphazard across the floor. There's a lingering scent of musk and perfume in the air.

His head continues to pound. He's still late. And he can't remember what happened last night.

Why can't he remember?

In a haze, Yumichika pulls out a clean shihakushou and brushes his hair into some semblance of order. He doesn't have time to find his sweater or apply the feathers so he is forced to go without.

The sense of wrongness continues to linger.

Yumichika never allows himself to drink to the point of inebriation. It tends to invite uncouth behavior. He would also never initiate a drunken one-night-stand. It simply isn't part of his repertoire. Yet, current details seem to suggest that this very thing happened last night.

He remembers going to a bar with Ikkaku and a varied collection of their friends. He remembers having two drinks and sharing a dance with an adorable brunette from the eighth division just for fun. But he hadn't actually been interested in her.

Yumichika doesn't remember how he got back to his quarters or why his room smells like sex. There are empty and blurred spots in his memory. His head hurts. His reiatsu is everywhere, unrestrained.

Nothing makes sense. The fact remains that he is late. The captain won't notice, but that's not the point. Yumichika is never late.

He snatches up Fuji Kujaku and heads for the eleventh's main office, pace hurried but dignified. He looks like shit, feels it even more, but pride keeps him from falling or letting it show in his expression.

It's too bright outside. Yumichika squints against unrelenting sunlight. He feels queasy all over again.

What had he done last night?

"Good morning, Ayasegawa-san!"

Someone wolf-whistles at him. "Looks like _someone_ got lucky last night!"

"Another one bites the dust, eh, Ayasegawa-san?"

Yumichika hurries by all of them, waving off the commentary and barely registering the words. He's in no mood for witty banter or friendly teasing, though he does give pause at the nearest reflective surface.

His face twists with outrage. There are marks visible on his collarbone where his sweater would normally conceal them. Ugly, blotchy marks that spoke of an unskilled, overeager lover. How unbeautiful.

Yumichika is single. At present, there is no one who has caught his eye. No one who interests him. There is no one he can think of that he'd be willing to bring back to his quarters. Not a single Shinigami, male or female.

And he would certainly never consent to someone leaving _marks_ on him. At least not where everyone else can see them.

Unease growing, Yumichika continues toward the main office, hoping that his suspicions are out of line. Perhaps Ikkaku can fill in the missing details.

The eleventh is quiet. The sort of quiet that comes from the morning after a late night party and everyone is too hungover to make noise or cause mischief. A part of Yumi is grateful for the quiet. Another part of him wishes for the chaos just as a distraction.

Also, it would seem he is not the only one who's late. Ikkaku has yet to arrive, and the captain is snoring in his office, feet propped on his desk. Yachiru is curled on his stomach like a little cat. It's almost... cute.

Head throbbing, Yumichika sits at his desk – really, it's Yachiru's but she never uses it – rustles up some medication and stares dully at the stack of documents awaiting his attention. As a fifth-seat, Yumichika technically has fewer administrative duties. But the eleventh division has always been unique. He considers himself a translator.

He takes all the reports from the division members and translates the garbled, scribbled nonsense into something worth sending into the captain-commander. Something coherent. Unsurprisingly, Yachiru and Ikkaku are the worst at composing legible reports. The captain's are actually quite good most of the time, but he'd kill anyone who ever told.

Conversely, Yumichika also takes the official paperwork and translates it into something everyone can understand. Their captain is not stupid by any means, and he _can _read, but he doesn't have the patience for the verbose official paperwork. He has the tendency to ignore it if it's any longer than a page.

Work.

Work is good. It's distracting. It keeps Yumichika's mind off disturbing things that are already making him twitchy. He wishes he'd had time for a long, hot bath with strong soap and a salt scrub. He feels... _unclean_, a matter compounded by the blank confusion in his memories.

There are too many inconsistencies, things that deviate from every routine Yumichika has established for himself. He is never late. He never throws his clothing haphazard. He never drinks himself stupid. He doesn't have nameless one-night-stands.

Ever. Not ever. Not once. Not before now.

Yumichika frowns. Something is not adding up.

The door to the main office creaks slowly open, and Yumichika turns, watching with mild amusement as Ikkaku attempts stealth. He fails at it, of course, but it's laughable to see him try.

"You're late," Yumichika says, arching one eyebrow. Ikkaku doesn't have to know about Yumichika's own lateness.

Ikkaku groans, squinting at the overhead lighting. "Too loud."

"Hungover? Why am I not surprised?"

"Guh. Not today, Yumi." Ikkaku closes the door behind him and all but collapses on the floor. "I feel like shit."

Rolling his eyes, Yumichika redirects his attention back to the paperwork. This feels so blessedly normal that it's easy to pretend he's not going crazy on the inside.

"Never fear. As I'm sure you can hear, our captain is not even awake yet."

"Good." His voice is muffled on account of his face being pressed into the tatami. "Oi. Where'd you go last night?"

Yumichika's fingers pause around the brush. "Go?"

"Yeah. Ya left without saying anything last night. I looked everywhere for you."

He somehow manages to keep his voice calm and even, betraying nothing. "You didn't see me leave?"

Ikkaku turns his head and squints up. "I saw ya talkin' to Matsumoto. Figured you must have snuck out." He makes a face. "I always thought she wasn't your... type."

Type is a mild way of putting it. Yumichika has never and will never harbor an attraction to Matsumoto Rangiku. She is aesthetically pleasing, but the rest of the package makes Yumichika shudder. Though only Ikkaku knows this. Gossip is very ugly, after all.

"She isn't," Yumichika says firmly, absolutely certain. "It must have been someone else."

Ikkaku sits up, mouth splitting in a grin, pain somehow forgotten. "So you _did_ take someone home. Well, that 'splains why you look like ya just crawled out of bed."

Yumichika's stomach churns. He feels sick but somehow keeps it from his face.

"So it would seem." His lips thin. "You say I was talking to Matsumoto?"

He doesn't remember this. Not at all. And that frightens him more than he'd ever admit.

"Uhh. Yeah." Ikkaku scratches his head. "What? You don't remember?"

The only other person who knows Yumichika has no interest in Matsumoto is Matsumoto herself. He's turned her down on more than one occasion, having no interest in becoming another notch on her wall. Call him traditional and old-fashioned, but he'd rather surrender his body to someone worthwhile. Yet, Matsumoto always returns with greater determination. Like an unwelcome foot fungus. Not that Yumichika has ever had one.

There is a mystery here. And Yumichika suspects that she has an answer for him. She knows good and well how to be sneaky and underhanded.

"Yumi?"

However, it'll have to wait until after his shift is complete. Ikkaku is suspicious enough as it is.

"It's nothing," Yumichika dismisses, anger boiling underneath the surface. Matsumoto isn't the only one who knows how to be underhanded. Yumi is just better at hiding it.

"Ya sure?" Ikkaku doesn't sound convinced. In fact, he seems ready for violence, which is probably the leftover booze talking.

"Yes." Yumichika pauses. "But the very moment it becomes otherwise, you'll be the first to know."

After all, what are best friends for if not to help hide the bodies?

o0o0o

Subtle questioning informs Yumichika that today is Matsumoto's day off. Which means she is in one of two places: her quarters or trolling the bars for her next conquest. It's too early for her to have successfully acquired one, and he has no desire to go bar-hopping to find her. Instead, he heads straight for her quarters, intending to wait if she is not there.

Luck, however, is on his side.

She answers on his second knock, the languid nature of her movement suggesting she is already halfway to thoroughly soused. Matsumoto grins at the sight of him and leans against the doorframe.

"Yumi," she purrs, entirely unwelcome. "Back for round two?"

The rage boils within him, mingling with disgust. Neither show on his face.

"Well," he allows, "since I can't seem to remember round one, a refresher does seem to be in order." Though now the idea of touching her revolts him completely.

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. Too many syllables for her sake-soaked brain, he supposes. Almost a pity.

"We'd need Hisagi for that," Matsumoto offers with a drunken weave. "But come on in."

Yumichika goes rigid. "Hisagi?"

What in all hell does _he_ have to do with this?

Matsumoto wobbles back inside her quarters, leaving him little choice but to follow. "Uh. Yeah. He started it, remember?"

"No, I don't."

She doesn't seem to notice the ice in his voice. It takes all he has to control his reiatsu. To not strangle her then and there.

"Oh. Well, he did." She flops down into a decadent nest of blankets and pillows, rooting around for something and pulling out a bottle of sake. "We were all thoroughly trashed, so I'm not surprised you don't remember."

Yumichika works his jaw for several long moments. Does she mean to imply that he'd had a drunken threesome with both herself and Hisagi?

No. Yumichika is absolutely certain he would have never consented to this. Much less allowed himself to get so drunk he is incapable of vocalizing his dissent. Especially with _her_. Hisagi perhaps. But most certainly not Matsumoto.

"I was not drunk," Yumichika puts in acidly. "And if I was, that does not mean you should have taken the opportunity to add me to your tally."

Matsumoto looks at him over the mouth of her sake jug. "Hey, we all enjoyed it. Hisagi especially. Like a kid in a candy store."

Yumichika's insides twist into a knot. He stares at her, the urge to do harm like a violent thing within him. But no. Not until he finds out what part Hisagi has to play in this.

"Where can I find Hisagi?" he demands.

She is too drunk to recognize the displeasure in his tone. "Best guess? Twelfth district, our usual spot. He's celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Finally getting you. What else?" She shrugs, tipping the jug to her lips. "He's been in love with you for years. Thought you knew. Everyone else did."

o0o0o

The urge to bathe, scrub his skin raw, overcomes Yumichika as he escapes Matsumoto 's quarters. Clearly, she feels no remorse for her actions, playing as though it were a night of mutual passion instead of a blatant... _rape_. Yes, call it what it is.

They raped him.

Bile crawls into Yumichika's throat. He feels terribly unbalanced. Matsumoto even sounded _proud_ of herself. As though she should not be guilty, completely unconcerned about consequences.

Is it because he is male?

No. It doesn't matter. Either way, she will not be allowed to get away with this.

First, however, is the matter of Hisagi.

Yumichika heads directly for the location given to him by Matsumoto. As the bar comes into sight, he can hear the raucous noise of a celebration in full swing. Laughter. Bawdy singing. Drunken scuffles.

Nevertheless, he steels himself and goes inside. Ikkaku's voice helps him orient himself, and he finds his best friend in the back corner with Renji-kun, Tetsuzaemon, and Hisagi. They roar a greeting as he approaches. Yumichika manages a thin smile that's completely alien to his face.

"Oi. I didn't think you were going to join us," Ikkaku calls, clapping him on the shoulder. He'd invited Yumichika earlier, but he'd cited business to attend.

"Yeah. Kaku said you were busy," comments a red-faced Renji, clearly the drunkest of them all.

"I still am," Yumichika says and lets his gaze wander over to Hisagi who isn't at all trying to hide the way he's staring. "Mind if I borrow Hisagi-kun?"

Tetsuzaemon laughs uproariously. "Mind? Why would we?" He winks, all boorish. "Been waiting for you to finally notice!"

Yumichika can't hide his wince. He's beginning to suspect that he's been missing a large part of something important.

"It's about time!" Renji crows and gives a snorting chuckle. He shoves Hisagi from the table. "Go for it, senpai."

Hisagi, of all things, blushes.

Yumichika rolls his eyes, pretending amusement. "You three are incorrigible. This is business."

"Is that what they are calling it these days?" Tetsuzaemon practically cackles.

Ikkaku, however, doesn't contribute to the imbecilic commentary.

Yumichika doesn't fail to notice. He grabs Hisagi's arm, pulling the somewhat intoxicated man out of the bar with him while pretending his skin isn't crawling at Hisagi's touch.

Outside, surrounded by the cool air, Yumichika releases Hisagi and backs him into a narrow alley between buildings. He hasn't the patience to wait until they get back to Seireitei and has no interest of keeping Hisagi's company for long.

"What did you do to me last night?" Yumichika demands, seeing no reason to be tactful or play word games.

Hisagi's blush deepens. "You didn't like it?"

"I don't remember it!" Yumichika hisses, and he feels his zanpakutou rattle.

His expression falls as though disappointed. "Oh." His forehead crinkles. "Then let me remind you."

Hisagi leans forward, as though intending a kiss. Yumichika immediately backpedals in disgust.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to kiss you." Hisagi looks confused. "Isn't that what lovers do?"

Yumichika gapes. Pure and simple. Mouth hanging open in the most unbeautiful pose imaginable. He has always heard Hisagi to be a level-headed man, but clearly something has made him lose his mind.

"We are _not_ lovers. We have never been and never will be," Yumichika snarls, reiatsu surging, Fuji Kujaku desperate for blood.

Hisagi tilts his head. "Is this because of last night? Because I let Rangiku join us? I swear I won't let it happen again."

Horrified, Yumichika backs away from Hisagi again. "You..."

A hand reaches for him, like one might comfort a distraught lover. "Come on, Yumi," Hisagi cajoles, using the name only Ikkaku is allowed to use. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Confused beyond reason, Yumichika whirls on a heel and flees. If he stays, he'll do something drastic. Something like draw his sword and strike the delusional vice-captain down in front of all and sundry.

Something is not right here. Neither Matsumoto nor Hisagi are treating their actions for the heinous deeds they are. What is Yumichika missing?

Had he really consented? Why can't he remember?

His own quarters aren't safe, no matter how much Yumichika wishes to retreat. They still smell of sex and remind him of all the things he can't remember.

He goes to the second best place, certain that Ikkaku won't mind.

In fact, it is where Ikkaku finds him hours later. He's nearly worn a hole in the tatami from his restless pacing.

"Tell me what's goin' on," Ikkaku orders without any preamble or trace of intoxication in his voice.

Yumichika continues to pace. It reflects the whirl of his thoughts, the control that has continued to slip through his fingers.

"I can't remember what happened last night."

Ikkaku lets out a slow breath. "What do ya mean?"

"I mean that I have no idea how I got back to my quarters." He clasps his hands behind his back. "Or who was there with me. I don't remember drinking enough to be drunk, but that obviously happened."

Ikkaku blinks at him. "Then... you and Hisagi?" He makes a vague motion.

"Not by choice. Or at least a choice I can't remember." Yumichika huffs. "This doesn't make any sense, Ikkaku. He's acting like we've been dating for months."

His best friend visibly winces. He looks queasy, and probably for much the same reason Yumichika does.

"He _has _had a thing for you for a long time," Ikkaku admits.

"So I'm hearing."

A bit dizzy, Yumichika stops and drops down to the floor. He doesn't even mind the dust right now. He's too far beyond that.

"One of us is crazy here, and it's not me." His hands tighten into fists before he can stop himself, and Yumichika knows that he has to be a sight. "He's built up some kind of sick fantasy and then let Matsumoto get involved."

Ikkaku lets out a puff of angry air. He's close to Yumichika now, but his reiatsu is a familiar and welcome thing. They might not be family by blood or name, but some ties are stronger than that. Yumichika trusts Ikkaku more than anyone and anything. If he didn't, they wouldn't even be having this conversation.

"Her, too?" Ikkaku questions, and his voice is sharp like a blade.

"She didn't deny it. Neither of them did." Yumichika rubs his forehead, feeling drained. Feeling, in fact, like he's stepped out of reality and into an odd alternate dimension. "And I can't remember a damn thing."

Ikkaku kneels on the tatami beside him. "There's no way you drunk that much. You'd never drink that much."

Yumichika can't even bare to look at him.

"I know."

"I saw you talkin' with Hisagi, but I didn't think nothin' of it," Ikkaku adds, and now, there's an edge of guilt. "We all knew he practically worshipped you, but..."

Yumichika feels sick all over again. He knows that Ikkaku has come to the same terrible conclusion. But he can't bring himself to say the word aloud. It is one thing to admit it to himself. It is another to say it to Ikkaku, even if they are best friends. Yumichika still has his pride.

"Are ya goin' to tell anyone?"

But Ikkaku already knows the answer to that. The only person Yumi would ever tell is the man next to him.

Yumichika grimaces. "The last thing I want is for anyone else to know."

Silence sweeps through Ikkaku's quarters. It's tense. Queasy almost. Full of things that Yumi doesn't even want to consider.

"So," Ikkaku finally says, "where do we hide the bodies?"

Jaw dropping, Yumichika turns to look at his best friend. "_W__hat__?_"

He drags a hand over his bald head. His gaze is earnest.

"You can't honestly tell me you want them to live."

No, actually. The thought of ever interacting with either of them again makes his skin crawl. Much less the idea of pretending nothing has happened.

Ikkaku's right.

Yumichika wants them gone. Dead. More than that, he wants them to suffer. For their last moments to be devoid of pleasure.

"I can't kill a fellow Shinigami," Yumichika tries to protest. However, Fuji Kujaku rages within him, eager to convince him that he absolutely _can_.

"No," Ikkaku corrects almost idly, "we can't get caught. There's a difference."

He's contemplative now. As if he's thinking about alibis already.

Yumichika decides then and there that Ikkaku is getting a fabulous birthday gift this year. No expense spared.

And with that, Yumichika knows he's already made his decision. He will not be made a cowering victim. He will not allow them to infect him with their madness. He will not stand for this.

They cannot be allowed to think that this travesty is acceptable. That they can get away with this.

He must be smart about this, however. He can't be caught or it will have been pointless.

Yumichika sits up straight. His smile is predatory and altogether too wicked.

"I have an idea."

Ikkaku doesn't even ask before he gives an equally fierce grin.

o0o0o

He goes for Matsumoto first, if only because her self-delusion is not as advanced as Hisagi's. And the simple fact that Yumichika despises her far more.

He can handle Hisagi's strange and stalkerish obsession. But Matsumoto 's blatant disregard for his wishes? That Yumichika cannot abide.

She doesn't see it coming.

Not the blow that sends her unconscious. Nor waking up to Yumichika's angry face in some abandoned building in a distant district. Just on the edge of known Hollow hunting grounds.

Outside, Ikkaku stands as lookout. He's ready to come at a moment's call, not that Yumichika anticipates needing backup. He had, however, needed muscle to carry Matsumoto 's unconscious bulk, while Yumi himself made sure no one saw them.

Yumichika's first order of business is to disarm her. He takes Haineko and wastes no time in applying steady bursts of kidoh to the blade until it shatters into several pieces, not at all resembling her shikai release. Each shard clatters to the ground audibly.

Rangiku watches him with wide, outraged eyes. She spits curses at him from behind the gag. All easily ignored.

Yumichika folds his arms behind his back, oddly calm. His rage is an icy weight in his chest, but it's managed. Controlled.

"You raped me," he says flatly, refusing to waste breath on pretty prose or let Matsumoto pretend anything otherwise. "I don't know how you managed it, but I know that you did."

She stares at him. All wounded dignity and innocence.

His eyes narrow. "No is not an answer you understand. So you chose to _take_ instead."

She's affronted now. Furious behind her gag.

A tremble races through him. From relief or disgust he can't be sure.

"What you did was a violation. It is not excusable," he hisses in her face. "You should be grateful I'm not seeking judicial recompense. At least this way you'll die without everyone knowing what a piece of moral-less garbage you are."

The feelings of calmness continue to grow, the sense of control over his life returning. He is starting to feel less cast adrift. Ikkaku is right. He needs things to end this way. No other way would do.

He draws Fuji Kujaku, and the zanpakutou pulses eagerly. No one truly knows the properties of his blade. No one knows what he can do. This is his advantage.

"I'm debating whether I should give you a chance to defend yourself," Yumi muses aloud, dragging his fingers down the length of his sword. "But then, my wishes weren't obliged either."

A muffled stream of commentary emerges from behind the gag. Matsumoto 's eyes are wide in a mixture of fear and anger.

Control returns again, tenfold, and some of the past week's anxiety bleeds away.

"In the end, I suppose, I am nobler than you." Yumichika removes the gag, if only to hear what she considers an excuse.

"Noble? Hah!" Matsumoto sneers at him, her eyes flashing. "You'll kill me for a night of pleasure? That's overreacting!"

His fingers tighten around Fuji Kujaku's hilt.

"No," Yumichika says calmly. "I'm removing a blight on our society."

"You can't rape the willing!" Matsumoto argues, straining at her bonds. There's something... calming about the terror in her eyes. "You enjoyed it. You weren't hurt. I don't see what you're whining about."

"_Sakikurue_," Yumichika says as his zanpakutou releases into the four blades, giving him access to its unique ability.

He can feel Fuji Kujaku's hunger, can see the kidoh tendrils curling off his blade and reaching for Matsumoto. Ready to incapacitate or kill, whichever Yumichika wishes.

Ikkaku will probably feel this. Will undoubtedly know. But Yumichika doesn't care right now. Can't care to keep this secret when there will now be an even bigger and better one between them.

"If you had attacked me with a sword and stabbed me in the back, you would have done less damage," Yumichika states icily, his eyes flashing as blue as the glow his zanpakutou has taken. "It is the mental wounds that have no cure."

He cannot forgive someone who has no remorse. Such is the way things must be.

"Goodbye, Matsumoto."

She starts to shout, but Yumichika ignores her, letting the power of his zanpakutou unfurl into the open space. Thick ribbons of reiatsu curl around her body, leaving her completely immobile and voiceless. The feel of her reiatsu makes Yumichika shudder, but he pushes through it.

The first pulse of stolen energy courses into Fuji Kujaku. Matsumoto jerks, eyes wide. Yumichika feels the vitality infusing his blade and by proxy himself. He rejects accepting the extra reiatsu, however, sending it wisping off into nothingness.

It comes more rapidly after that, as the reiatsu ribbons drain the very spirit of her. He leaves her nothing but the barest flutter of life, the barest rise and fall of breath. The feeblest twitch of her fingers.

She'll live. But just barely. It's a worse fate than death, really. She'll never be a Shinigami again. She'll barely be able to function on her own. Her lifespan has been reduced. No one will ever find her alluring. She'll need constant care.

Yumichika quietly sheathes Fuji Kujaku and the press of reiatsu in the room vanishes. Matsumoto is unconscious her body twitches on the floor. He has no worries that she'll tell someone.

Who would believe her? Far more likely that it was a Hollow's attack. Especially since she'll have been found in an area known for such. There was no such thing as a Shinigami who could steal a person's very life pulse, after all.

"I still say ya should have killed her," Ikkaku says as he steps into the building. If he notices the change in Yumichika's reiatsu or the odd cast to it, he says nothing

"She could still die," Yumichika offers. "I'll leave that up to fate to decide."

Ikkaku nudges her with a toe. "So you're just gonna leave her here?"

"Someone will find her eventually." Yumichika amazes himself with his own composure. "However, it would be prudent to untie her and collapse the building around her."

"Heh. Finally." Ikkaku grins now. "Something for _me_ to do."

Now all that's left is the matter of Hisagi.

o0o0o

Even more so than Matsumoto, Hisagi proves himself remarkably easy to catch. Yumichika attributes it to the fact that the man lives in a fairytale land where he and Yumichika a couple. In love even.

Hisagi isn't at all suspicious when Yumichika comes knocking on his door. He doesn't question the invitation for a stroll in the moonlight. He's almost giddy when Yumichika takes his hand, holding tightly, as though he thinks Yumichika will flee from him at a moment's notice.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" Hisagi asks, his enthusiasm painful to see as unbalanced as it is. Clearly, he's lost touch with reality.

"For what, exactly?" Yumichika asks in return, proud of himself for maintaining his composure. For being able to act normal even though he shudders at the feel of Hisagi's reiatsu licking at his own.

"For inviting Rangiku."

A shudder crawls down Yumichika's spine. "Of all the things you've done, Hisagi, inviting Matsumoto is the least of which you need forgiveness for," Yumichika replies.

Hisagi blinks at him, either a perfect actor or truly confused. "I don't know what you mean."

Here, surrounded by the dark of night save for a few stars, Yumichika whirls toward Hisagi. "How did you do it?" he demands, free hand curling around Fuji Kujaku's hilt. "I wasn't nearly drunk enough-"

"Of course you weren't," Hisagi returns, rather blandly at that. "You don't like to get that drunk. I know that. But you needed to relax. I wanted to help."

"Help?"

His voice is dangerously approaching an undignified shriek, which is more embarrassing than anything else in the last few days. Yumichika tones it down.

"How, exactly, did you _help_ me?"

Hisagi actually frowns. "It was just some medicine. To get you calm."

Medicine? He must mean a drug of some sort. Well, that's one mystery solved. At least Yumichika no longer has to worry about himself having inexplicably drunk himself into inebriation.

He draws up straight, staring at Hisagi.

"Make me pliable, you mean," Yumichika retorts. "More susceptible to your seduction. It was the only way you thought you could have me."

An expression not unlike horror flitters across Hisagi's face. "I'd never-"

"And yet you did."

Each word is painfully enunciated. Yumichika can feel the rage building in him once again, more than it had for Matsumoto, though it is of a different flavor.

"It was not relaxation. It was rape. There was no invitation. Only drug-induced coercion."

"No." Hisagi is ghostly pale now. "No. I _love_ you, Yumi. I would never hurt you. We're supposed to be together! That's how it is!" He looks desperate, pleading, hands held out in supplication.

His delusion is almost worth pitying. _Almost_. And perhaps Yumichika might have had a sliver of mercy within him... If Hisagi had not invited Matsumoto. Of all things, it is the lowest of that which requires an apology, but it's also what tipped the scales toward revenge.

It is, however, that insane, obsession that will make Hisagi's punishment slightly less painful and humiliating than Matsumoto's.

Yumichika steadily draws Fuji Kujaku. The rasp of blade from sheath is painfully loud in the evening quiet.

"From Matsumoto, I took all but her life for this," he says slowly. "I will not punish you as severely."

Hisagi eyes his zanpakutou warily, one hand straying toward his own.

"Are you going to kill me?" he questions, and in his voice, there's a hint of the steel Yumichika had always known him for bearing.

Yumichika drags his fingers down his blade. "No," he says, the metal humming beneath his fingertips. "Neither of you deserved the mercy of death."

Hisagi draws his own zanpakutou. "I don't want to hurt you, Yumichika," he replies pleadingly, grip on his sword uncertain. Too bad it will do him little good. The moment he's within Fuji Kujaku's thrall, it will be too late.

His sword is practically vibrating, hungry for the taste of Hisagi's reiatsu. Desperate to consume the violator as he had devoured Matsumoto.

Yumichika lets a bitter smile curve his lips. "Not hurt me?" He releases with a quiet whisper, reiatsu tendrils curling outward. "You already have."

o0o0o

When it is all said and done, the blame never circles around to Yumichika. It never even forms to begin with. They find Matsumoto days after her _punishment_, and as he suspected, they attribute her condition to some new form of Hollow. She's hardly in a condition to argue otherwise. She can barely stay awake for longer than ten minutes at a time. Barely make her mind form words, much less speak. But just in case, Yumichika occasionally wanders by to bring flowers, fake smiles, and an implied warning to keep her silence for once in her life.

Hisagi, at least, is functional. He'll never be a Shinigami again. Never be more than a helpless paper-pusher that the captain-commander took pity on. Still, he has something like a life. Yumichika even catches the former lieutenant gazing in his direction sometimes, his expression too complicated for Yumichika to identify. Guilt or longing or sorrow, it's impossible to tell.

Either way, Hisagi hasn't pointed fingers at him either. And Yumichika highly doubts that he will. No one would ever believe him anyway. He was attacked by the same Hollow as Matsumoto after all. It probably addled his brain in the process.

It's only marginally easier to move on afterward. Yumichika still finds himself wary of any drink he doesn't purchase himself or that Ikkaku brings to him. He can't remember the last time he felt so vulnerable. And here, it is once again, staring at him with spindly fingers and dread creeping down his spine.

He wakes to the slightest creak in his quarters. He's even warier than before about dating. Right now, he doesn't have any interest.

"Maybe you _should_ have killed them," Ikkaku suggests one evening, when they're sharing a jug of sake on the roof of the eleventh.

Yumichika contemplates his cup before taking a long sip. "It wouldn't have made a difference," he responds finally. "Dead or alive or punished, I can still remember. Or not, depending on how you look at it."

He can't recall details, but the knowledge that _something_ must have happened is plenty enough to charge his nightmares.

"Still..." Ikkaku shrugs, kicking out his bare feet and laying back, head pillowed on his arms. "They woulda deserved it."

Yumichika makes a wordless sound of agreement.

The option to kill them is not yet gone from the table after all. They are still alive.

For now.

* * *

a/n: For the record, I neither hate Matsumoto nor Shuuhei. As with the case in all my fanfiction, I debate personality characteristics that could possibly bend in the direction of not-so-happy actions. Flames regarding my character choice will be utterly disregarded. Criticisms regarding my writing style are wholly accepted.

Thank you for reading. More updates are soon to come as I have six still on the plate, including the conclusion of two lingering series. Coming up next: RenjixIchigo and some laughs.


	195. Accidental Seduction

**Title: Accidental Seduction**

**Characters: Renji, Ichigo**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: language, implied boy/boy, food not-quite-porn**

**Words: 479**

**Description: It shouldn't be this hot. It is.**

* * *

His meal sits forgotten in front of him, barbeque drenched chicken wings dangling between two fingers. Instead, Ichigo is riveted by the messy scene across the table from him.

He watches as Renji devours his meal, smearing sauce over his lips and fingers. Tongue darting out to lap an escaping drop of sauce. Then focusing on his barbeque covered fingers. Cleaning them with long licks of his tongue. Sucking each finger into his mouth, cheeks hollowing with suction. Releasing it with a lewd pop only to start on the next one with the same aggressive intent.

There's a drop of sauce on Renji's chin. Ichigo wants to lick it off so badly that he squeezes a paper napkin with his left hand, right hand dangling midair with an untouched chicken wing.

This shouldn't be so hot, but it damn well is.

"These are fuckin' good," Renji mutters as he nibbles on a wing, lapping at excess sauce with his tongue. He adds a small moan, one of enjoyment.

Ichigo's insides lurch with need. He lowers his own wing back to the plate, wanting to grab Renji's hand. Lick that sauce off for him. Watch those amber eyes darken, bank with heat.

Ichigo squirms in his seat. He _wants_.

Renji looks up at him, arching his brow. Either perfectly oblivious or damn well aware of Ichigo's discomfort and secretly delighting in it.

"Somethin' wrong?"

Ichigo swallows thickly, lies through his teeth. His brow is sweaty. He doesn't really care.

"No."

Renji grunts, points at Ichigo's plate with a sauce-covered forefinger. "Then are ya gonna eat those?"

He pushes the plate toward Renji. Hunger for food replaced with a different sort, interested only in watching Renji continue to tease.

"Help yourself."

"Sweet." Renji sucks on his fingers again, seemingly unaware of Ichigo's plight. To the fact that Ichigo's pants have become uncomfortably restrictive.

Ichigo drops the napkin and reaches for his glass of soda, gulping half of it down. Pretending like he's not watching Renji from the corner of his eye, watching that skilled tongue lap up drops of sauce, easily able to imagine that tongue elsewhere.

'_Want to push him down_,' Ichigo thinks, half-imagines.

Lick sauce off his lips and fingers, watch Renji turn red and hear his breath come in sharp stutters. Wants to make Renji moan and writhe, tasting sweet, tangy barbeque sauce on Renji's tongue.

Ichigo groans inwardly, wanting to thunk his head down on the table. Wanting to do a lot more lewd things than that but knowing he can't.

This is almost torture.

He can't do anything but sit here, watching Renji molest a bunch of chicken bones. Ichigo's insides churn with want, his face heats, his jeans uncomfortably hot, and damn it, Renji is going to pay for this later. Ichigo vows this to himself.

But first, he's got to survive this. Somehow.

_Damn_.

* * *

a/n: Five more drabbles to come. Next up, Aizen and Urahara, _Lest We Forget_.


	196. Lest We Forget

**Title: Lest We Forget**

**Characters: Urahara, Aizen, past relationship**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: sex, slash**

**Words: 3,212**

**Description: Aizen is too smug. Too self-assured. Too strong to ever defeat.**

* * *

_Kisuke stares up at the ranking board, glaring hatefully at the name that has once again surpassed his own. And a first-year at that. His jaw clenches. This is unacceptable._

_A mere half-point. Every time this Aizen Sousuke scrapes past Kisuke with the top scores in the Academy! It's enough to drive a man crazy. _

_Someone squeezes by Kisuke with a politely murmured "excuse me." Probably another student wanting to check his scores. Kisuke ignores the brunet, stalking back toward his waiting friends. _

_Lisa sidles up this side, snuggling against him. "Let me guess. Judging by that scowl I'd wager... second best?" Her hand trails down his chest; Lisa's always of the opinion that rolling between the sheets is the best cure-all. "Sucks to be you." _

"_Who the hell is this Aizen anyway?" Kisuke seethes outwardly. _

_On his other side, Rose chuckles. "You mean you don't know?" _

_Hirako gestures back toward the board, where the crowd of students has thinned out to a manageable level. "You almost ran him over, Ki-chan." _

_Kisuke whirls around. He glares at the brunet who'd eased past him earlier, taking in clunky glasses and average looks. _

"**Him**?_" _

_Laughing, Lisa tries to steer him away from the boards and the object of his ire. "Yes, _**him**_. The first year who's smarter than you." _

"_Luckier," Kisuke corrects. _

"_Hmm. He must be Lady Luck's own then," Rose muses aloud. "Because you haven't been first since he started here." _

_Kisuke all but snarls. "I hate him." _

"_Jealousy is quite unbecomin' on ya, Ki-chan," Hirako offers with a wry grin. He slings an arm over Kisuke's shoulders. "Come on. Some sake will help ya wash down that bitter pill." _

_He only looks back once more to see Aizen watching them go, his gaze inscrutable._

The Shinigami are losing this war.

The Gotei 13 is outmatched, outnumbered, and out-witted. Splintered by lingering betrayal and mistrust. Broken by deceit. Hope all but shattered. Reduced to relying on an almost-human child for their salvation.

It would be laughably pathetic if Kisuke didn't consider himself aligned with said losing side.

He stares at the numbers. He analyzes every report of every battle. He tastes the sharp tang of blood and reiatsu in the air. He sees friends and loved ones fall in his nightmares. The Shinigami are losing this war.

Once again, Kisuke has proven to be only second best.

In the end, Sousuke still knows him better than anyone ever has, including himself.

o0o0o

"_You're wrong," Kisuke insists, voice slurred from too much drink. "Too much pressure will shatter the delicate structure of the compound."_

_Sousuke shakes his head, leaning forward across the table. "Not if you're careful to apply a cooling element at the precise moment before it tips into instability." _

"_There's no way to accurately predict that temperature!" Kisuke retorts with a snort. "Impossible." _

"_Have you tried it?" _

_Kisuke's scowl deepens. "...No." _

_Victory. Sousuke grins. _

"_Then how can you say it's impossible?" _

_Grey eyes narrow at him, full of so much irritation. Kisuke leans forward, flicking his cup toward Sousuke. _

"_Pour the sake, damn it." _

"_You've always been a sore loser, Urahara-san." _

_Nevertheless, Sousuke pours another round for his drinking companion. _

_Kisuke huffs, all but snatching the cup. "You can't claim victory until you _**prove**_ it, Sou-kun." He continues to watch the brunet critically. _

"_Is that how you define success then?" Sousuke asks. _

_Their faces are so close he can feel each puff of Kisuke's breath, catch the whiff of alcohol. The older man toys with his cup, eyes never leaving Sousuke's own. _

"_Don't you?" He tosses back the shot and thunking the cup back down onto the table. _

_Sousuke's lips spread into a slow smile. "Sometimes, the proof is in the attempt rather than the result." He lifts a hand, idly wiping a drop of sake from the corner of Kisuke's mouth, noting that the other man makes no attempt to back away or stop him. _

_Kisuke instead turns his head. He captures Sousuke's thumb with his lips, tongue flicking over the tip of it. _

"_Is this a new game?" _

"_To the victor go the spoils?" Sousuke murmurs before crossing the distance between them. Their mouths crash together, wet and sloppy but absolutely perfect. _

_Sake and arguing are all too quickly abandoned. And Sousuke honestly doesn't know which he prefers. Kisuke's sharp wit or his even sharper kisses. _

His throne is as white as his castle. A place of high esteem, absolutely fitting for a future king. A year, perhaps less at this rate, and Soul Society will be his.

Sousuke smirks and shifts on his throne. Seated above everyone and everything as should be his due.

Yamamoto and the Gotei 13 have fought a valiant battle. But they have no hope. They throw away their lives in hopeless desire to forestall Sousuke's inevitable domination.

It is only a matter of time.

Sousuke will finally achieve his dream. He'll see Yamamoto defeated. He'll be the King of Soul Society, the highest power. No one will be his equal.

His throne is a good place to start. It seats only one. But there is yet room at his right hand. Sousuke stares at that empty place for long, brooding hours. An empty place he never meant for Kaname or Gin to fill.

He knows whom he wishes to be there.

And he also knows how improbable such a desire is.

o0o0o

_By all rights, this isn't the way things should be. Kisuke is the elder, the more experienced. It is his due to take the lead. _

_Yet, it's hard to argue rights when it all feels so damn good. When the weight of Sousuke's body over his is bettered only by the heat blanketing them. When the push-pull of Sousuke sliding into him drags his ecstasy to new heights. When logic and coherence have fled out the window, leaving only monosyllabic demands for more spilling from his lips. _

_Kisuke moans, scrabbling at the bedcovers, pushing back to meet each thrust. He trembles, body coated in sweat, length dripping onto rumpled blankets. Sousuke's hands on his hips are a welcome, teasing grip. The sound of his gasps like an electric stab to Kisuke's pleasure center. _

_Of course it would be like this. Their coupling as frantic and heated as their conversations. Nothing between them is ever placid or compromising. It's unstoppable force butting heads with immovable object. _

_Kisuke wouldn't have it any other way. _

_His arms tremble, give out, and Kisuke drops to his elbows. The angle shifts, and Sousuke's next thrust rakes across something electric. Kisuke shouts, lurching, fingers squeezing the bedcovers. He swears he can hear his heart beat, and blood pounds in his ears. _

_He comes with a roar, and starbursts explode behind his eyelids. Kisuke draws in great, heaving breaths, barely cognizant as Sousuke brazenly flips him over. He falls over Kisuke, sliding back into him like a key to a lock, hips seeking his own release. _

_Brown eyes are drenched with desire. Kisuke reaches, hauling Sousuke down so their mouths can meet. Each thrust is pleasure-pain on over-sensitized flesh. Sousuke's kiss is eager but unfocused. Heaving gasps make for puffs of wet heat against Kisuke's lips. _

_He's beautiful like this. Kisuke keeps such observations to himself. _

_Sousuke's release seems to take him by surprise, his body giving a harsh jerk before he comes. A mess to be cleaned later but ignored right now. _

_Sousuke's last effort is to tip himself to the side, but that doesn't stop Kisuke from dragging him close. They are hot and sticky, but that's part of the fun. _

_They don't speak. They don't have to. _

There is but one option left to him. It is the smallest chance, the dimmest hope.

The Shinigami are losing. Kisuke can only see pain, blood, death, _agony_ on the horizon. Corpses pile up in his dreams, screams echoing in his ears.

He still feels partly to blame.

There is only one thing he can do.

He must go to Aizen and beg. He must wheedle his way to his former lover's side. He must try to convince Aizen to spare as many lives as he possibly can.

In short, Kisuke must defect.

It is too late to win this war for the Shinigami. But there may still be a chance to salvage a smaller victory from the ashes. To save a few lives.

Kisuke can only hope Aizen is willing to negotiate. That he hasn't forgotten what they once meant to each other. That he understands the message Kisuke has given him.

o0o0o

"_Do you really think we've reached the limit of our evolution?" Sousuke asks, frowning as he flicks a fireball between his fingers. _

_Kisuke chuckles. "The very nature of evolution implies that there will always be a further step. Another leap. A desperate mutation." _

_Dispersing the low-level kidoh with a flicker of his reiatsu, Sousuke tries to focus on the next step in this chemical process. He seems contemplative though._

"_What is there left?" _

"_That's the beauty of science. We get to find out." Kisuke grins. "Hand me that magnesium?" _

_He reaches for the vial and passes it over. "Aren't you curious?" _

"_About what?" Kisuke questions, half-absent, as he carefully measures. _

"_About the next stage," the brunet replies, leaning back to watch scientific genius at work. There are many ways in which Sousuke is smarter than Kisuke, but his lover will always outstrip him when it comes to the sciences. "We should see what we can manage." _

_Kisuke glances at him from the corner of his eye. "That kind of research is illegal." _

"_Since when has that stopped you?" His lover arches his eyebrow. "I seem to remember a certain third-seat inventing an item that would help him learn bankai." _

"_Ah, you have a valid point." _

_The magnesium hits the chemical concoction with a violet poof. Kisuke inclines his head, as though satisfied with the result, and turns toward the burner. _

"_Let's do it," Sousuke whispers quietly. _

_Kisuke pauses and looks over his shoulder at him. "I take it you already have an idea?" _

"_You can't tell me you haven't built hypotheses already." _

"_It would be a lie if I did." _

_Sousuke holds out a hand. "Let's make things interesting. Whoever makes a discovery first, wins." _

_Kisuke eyes his hand. "What do we win?" _

"_Eternal bragging rights." When Kisuke doesn't seem sufficiently enthused, Sousuke sweetens the deal. "And the option to always win our arguments." _

"_Deal." Kisuke grins, shaking his hand with no hesitation. "You realize you've challenged me in my own hunting grounds?" _

_Sousuke steps up beside him. His smile is a touch wicked. _

"_The games only just begun, my dear." _

When the jigokuchou flitters into his personal quarters, Sousuke can only blink in surprise. The average messenger never makes it this far into Las Noches. It is too quickly set upon by the random Hollow. But this one is obviously of stronger constitution. There's a silver lining to its wings and a faint, familiar reiatsu emanating from it.

Ah, an Urahara Kisuke creation.

Sitting up, Sousuke holds up a hand and allows it to land upon his finger. The message it transmits is only a single word. It has been decades, but Sousuke has not forgotten the meaning behind the single syllable.

It is a request for a meeting. From Kisuke.

How... unexpected. And yet desired.

Sousuke composes an answer – as monosyllabic as the question itself – and watches as the jigokuchou flies off into the night.

Tomorrow shall prove to be interesting indeed.

o0o0o

_No amount of composure can hide the horror thrumming through Kisuke's entire being. His ears are ringing, the sound of his best friend's screams growing louder and louder. They're in pain, and there's so little he can do. _

_Hiyori won't stop convulsing. Love has chewed his lip raw. Kensei is pulling so much at his bonds that Kisuke isn't sure they are strong enough. Rose still howls like a mad dog. Hachi is eerily silent. Lisa's clawed fingers are digging into her own thighs. And Shinji's reiatsu is lashing throughout the room strong enough to rattle the walls and physically strike everyone within the confined space. _

_Tessai is looking at him, demanding instruction, wishing for Kisuke to give him some clue as to how to proceed. _

_Kisuke doesn't know what to do. This is Sousuke's research not his. The same goal, but they'd taken completely different paths to get there. Kisuke hadn't even considered deriving a power boost from a Hollow's energy! But Sousuke had. And had been experimenting for quite some time, though obviously this method is a bit... _**unfinished**_. _

_His friends are in pain, and he can't help them. He doesn't even know where to start. It's especially hard to concentrate with the agony inside of him. Thoughts bouncing back and forth. _

_How could Sousuke do this? How could he dare do this? How could he _**ever**_ do this?_

_Tessai steps up beside him. "Urahara-san?"_

_Kisuke draws in a ragged breath. He can't admit that he's clueless. More than that, he can't fail them. _

_This is his fault. He should have seen this coming. Should have known his _**lover**_ better than this. He hadn't been able to protect them, but Kisuke'll be damned before he'll let himself fail to fix them. _

_This is his burden to correct. _

The outskirts of Karakura are the closest to neutral territory that Kisuke could find. He flares his reiatsu, knowing Sousuke can find him through it alone, and waits with growing trepidation.

He half-dreads, half-anticipates seeing his lover again. He has so many mixed feelings; he doesn't know where to begin. His heart bears hatred and longing, all intermingled.

He'll never forget what Sousuke has done to their friends, to Kisuke himself.

But his heart reminds him of all those years they've sent together. Of the life they'd built. The promises made.

Perhaps there is still some of the Sousuke he loves left.

"I received your message."

Kisuke whirls, heart leaping into his throat. He'd neither felt nor heard Sousuke arrive. And that more than anything makes a stab of worry go straight to his spine.

"So I see," he says and struggles to regain his composure.

Dressed in the all-white of his new lordship, Sousuke looks so very different. Kisuke misses the clunky glasses.

"What did you want to ask of me, Urahara-san?"

He winces. The reversion to formalities stings, even if it's only logical.

"I have a proposal." Kisuke tilts his chin upward. "An offer to make."

Sousuke inclines his head. His eyes aren't hidden behind his glasses or hair, but they're still unreadable.

"Oh?"

He draws a breath, prepares himself. "The Shinigami are losing," Kisuke offers, though he knows it can't come as a shock. "You and I both know that. And a part of me also knows that it's only what they deserve."

Sousuke is still watching him. "You agree with my intentions then?" he questions, voice utterly benign.

"I never disagreed," the blond corrects, daring to step closer. "It was your methods that I disdained. And the memories of your betrayal are rather fresh."

Sousuke's eyes flash then. Just a flicker of something that Kisuke can't even begin to name.

"I never betrayed you."

And it's all too close to true a denial.

"Bullshit."

Kisuke's heart leaps into his throat, and he inhales, fighting to regain control. He hadn't come to fight or toss around blame, but he can't help it.

"The Shinigami deserve their defeat," Kisuke tries again, "but not everyone deserves to be killed. And I know you're pragmatic enough to consider cutting down on your losses."

The brunet is watchful again. Waiting.

"How would you propose I do that?"

Kisuke meets his gaze fearlessly. "By letting me change sides. They'll fall faster without me to counter your plans," he explains as if it isn't obvious. "I only ask that you spare a few lives."

The soon-to-be overlord begins a slow circle around Kisuke. His reiatsu teases outward as though enticing Kisuke's own. It's almost but not quite flirting.

"What is the benefit to me?" he inquires, but his tone is nearly playful.

There is a temptation to bring up their past relationship, as though it might have any weight on Sousuke's decision. Kisuke doesn't know if he dare reference it, however. Such a thing might have the opposite effect.

He considers voicing all of the arguments he'd used to convince himself. But in the end, they are nothing more than lyrical posturing.

The truth will serve him best.

He drops his chin, and metaphorically, his barriers as well. "We can continue this game if you'd like," Kisuke retorts. "But we both know how it will end."

Sousuke pauses mid-circuit, standing so that they are nearly side by side but facing opposite directions. He watches Kisuke from the corner of his eyes.

"You know me so well then?"

Kisuke turns his head, trying to meet the brunet's gaze directly. "If you had asked me, things could have gone a lot differently."

"No. It wouldn't have." Sousuke pauses, eyes shifting away. "You were open to pushing boundaries but not willing to do what's necessary."

A flush of annoyance mixes with anger. Kisuke bites back indignation.

"And your ego never submits to a compromise."

Of all things, Sousuke laughs. Actually laughs. Real laughter. Not posturing. As though this is nothing more than their usual banter. As though decades of betrayal, hurt, and resentment don't stand between them.

"In the end, my dear, you are the one standing here, wishing to join me on my quest."

"Are you telling me that you'd prefer I remain with the Shinigami?" the blond counters, his voice carrying a slight chill. He can't tell if Sousuke is mocking him or being genuine.

Sousuke's eyebrows crawl upward. "Hardly. You are the one advantage they had left. Outside of the Kurosaki boy." He lifts a hand then and rests it on Kisuke's shoulder near his neck; his fingers are too much like a caress "I do have a place for you, my dear."

An unaccustomed warmth spreads through Kisuke at the bare touch. He doesn't know whether to loathe himself for the reaction or lean further forwards. He's trapped between what he wants and what he shouldn't do.

"Kurosaki-kun isn't to blame for any of this" is all he manages to say. "And there are others, those who fight because they don't understand why they shouldn't."

Sousuke turns to face him completely. Their noses are now in close proximity.

"We'll discuss that when the time comes. Though I will admit the boy is interesting at least, and his little friends would prove useful."

A slow smirk curls his lips as his fingers trail along the skin of Kisuke's neck to his jaw. His touch ghosts up to an ear and tucks back a stray strand of blond hair. Soft. Familiar.

Kisuke isn't prepared for the following kiss, however. He's still reeling when Sousuke swoops in and captures his mouth. But he's gentle, so gentle. Only gives a slight nip before he pulls back.

"Welcome to the winning side, my dear," Sousuke breathes then. Too smug. Too pleased.

Too soft as he steals another kiss. This one long and lingering.

Kisuke just kisses him back.

* * *

a/n: This is another fic that was supposed to eventually be an epic. But declining interest and lack of time made it end up here as a drabble. Alas.

Hope you enjoyed! Just four more fics to go before I mark this complete, and the last part of _Past Imperfect_ is one of these.


	197. Lies and Promises

**Title: Lies and Promises**

**Characters: Ichigo/Kisuke, Yoruichi**

**Rating: M**

**Warning: Angst, slash, smut, liquor, spoilers**

**Words: 3017**

**Description: _Just this once_, Kisuke tells himself, but in the end, they're both lying for the sake of a promise. **

* * *

They were drunk, are drunk, and only a dim part of Ichigo's mind recognizes this fact. It's this dim part which is screaming how much this is a very bad idea. He firmly tells it to sit down and shut the fuck up. He needs it. Kisuke needs it. Together, they need each other.

Kisuke's eyes are dark with sorrow, surely reflecting the pain in Ichigo's own eyes. His lips are hungry, needy, his hands even more so as he helps Ichigo strip out of his clothes, tossing them to the floor carelessly. Ichigo reaches for Kisuke's clothes, glad that they are loose, easily accessible, and soon it's just skin. Warm skin, smooth and rippled with muscle, hairy in some places but oh so warm and inviting.

"Ichigo," he breathes, and there's so much emotion in his voice that Ichigo nearly winces.

He pushes away the guilt. There's no need for it. He may not love Kisuke as much as he's sure the shopkeeper loves him, but there is respect and affection. Kisuke has been there for him more than Isshin had ever managed, more than any other adult in Ichigo's life since his mom's death. Kisuke will always be a dear friend, and that is a certain kind of love... just not the same kind.

Ichigo seals their lips together, if only to prevent Kisuke from speaking more, and tastes sake on Kisuke's tongue. Ichigo probably tastes the same. They'd finished off three bottles between the two of them, and it makes the world a hazy and warm place. Or maybe that's Kisuke's touch on his bare skin, caressing and stroking, making Ichigo shiver and shudder with pleasure.

Kisuke rocks against him, their burgeoning arousals rubbing together and making Ichigo moan, making Kisuke do the same into their kiss. It feels so good, helping to chase away the shadows of a victorious war with too much price to pay.

The bed is soft and warm, Kisuke even more so beneath him. Ichigo breaks off the kiss, lets his lips warm, lets them travel over Kisuke's throat where Kisuke's voice vibrates against Ichigo's lips. He's murmuring something that Ichigo promptly pretends he can't hear as his hands wander, as they stroke and encourage, drawing Kisuke further into pleasure.

It's such a bad idea, but it feels too damn good, soothes too many raw places inside Ichigo for him to back away now. He tells himself it's all the sake, that he had one drink too many and he can't be expected to think rationally. That maybe he even owes it to Kisuke, owes it to the man who's fought and bled at his side like no one else.

It's just this once, Ichigo tells himself. They can wake up hung over, embarrassed, realizing their mistake in the morning. So just this one time, he'll indulge. Just this time he'll be the bright spot in Kisuke's night, something better than nightmares and flashbacks of the past. Just this once.

o0o0o

He knows better than this.

There are a thousand different other things he should be doing. He knows this all too well. And yet, Ichigo finds himself smiling gently once again, hands fisting in Urahara's – no, _Kisuke_'s – haori and dragging him down for another kiss. He seeks out Kisuke's mouth with his own, thrusts his tongue inside, and demands with his lips what he hasn't managed to say with his words.

Kisuke makes a sound, a desperate noise in the back of his throat, a rumble that betrays the true depth of his emotions. Feelings that Ichigo can't quite match and force a twist of guilt in Ichigo's belly. He squashes it down as quickly as he pushed down all the other hot, bitter emotions he carried during Aizen's war.

Ichigo needs this. Kisuke needs this. What else should matter?

He says these things over and over to himself but they sound hollow and false. Because they are, but Ichigo pretends not to recognize that either.

Kisuke is warm and wanting, his hands almost tender as they brush across Ichigo's abdomen, as they pluck at his pants and push up his shirt. He tries to gentle the kiss, but Ichigo thinks that might hurt more, and places a nip to Kisuke's bottom lip.

Softness and caresses are for real lovers, not the facsimile of ones that Ichigo himself has created.

Ichigo's lips speak what his words cannot and he tugs at Kisuke's clothes, pulling them off with quick movements that leave the shopkeeper bare to his eyes. He arches up, grinding against Kisuke, desperately begging for more, something Kisuke is all too willing to provide. Ichigo keeps his eyes closed, afraid of the emotion he knows he'll see in those grey-green eyes.

Kisuke's mouth is a warm, wet path from Ichigo's lips to his throat, a sensitive place that makes Ichigo shiver, belly twisting with want. He's murmuring, as he always does, Kisuke can never stay silent. And Ichigo tries not to listen to the words. He knows they'll only twist the knife deeper.

But he's weak, always has been, no matter what everyone says about the kind of hero he must be.

The whisper of _I love you_ seems to echo in Ichigo's ears long after they were murmured, and he swallows thickly, lets the blade sink in a little deeper. He'll never be able to return those sentiments, but he's here anyway like the coward he's always been. Because he needs it, and Kisuke needs it, and it's all that this so-called hero can do.

o0o0o

"You don't love him."

Ichigo sets down his cup, traces his finger around the damp rim of it.

"No."

Across from him, Yoruichi sighs. She sounds simultaneously disappointed and sad, the former directed at Ichigo, the latter sympathetic of Kisuke.

"Then why?"

"He loves me," Ichigo says, and really, it's that simple to him. It's not like Ichigo is losing anything in the process. If one little lie makes everyone happy, what's the big deal?

Yoruichi is looking at him, and Ichigo can't decide what her expression means. Her lips are pulled into a frown, her eyes dark.

"So this is a sacrifice on your part?"

Ichigo contemplates his cup, the intricate cherry blossom design on the side – a gift from Byakuya perhaps. "I wouldn't call it that," he murmurs, and he hides behind the cup, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the tea, letting it wash through his senses.

"Then what would you call it?"

_Fingers – dare he call their touch reverent? – drag down his spine, lips following in their wake. Ichigo pants, bites down on his knuckles, and arches into the caress. His every nerve is on fire, and all he wants is to come, but Kisuke's not willing to let him go just yet. He's far too interested in teasing, in dragging things out, in making it last._

Ichigo's fine with that. Because if he's here with Kisuke, he's not out there, thinking of all the things he doesn't want to think about. He's not remembering the past and his mistakes or feeling the weight of Seireitei's expectations on his shoulders. It's just him and Kisuke and being treated like something special, something worth more than Zangetsu's power.

Here, he's just Ichigo, and more than anything, Ichigo craves that affirmation.

So when Kisuke looks at him like that, grey eyes soft and dark all at once, Ichigo quashes the guilt and tells himself, it's okay. He's not hurting anyone. What's a little white lie? He curls his fingers in Kisuke's hair, and drags the blond down for a kiss, tongue pushing into Kisuke's mouth and embracing familiar territory.

Ichigo takes a sip of the tea and licks his lips. "Mutually beneficial," he replies, and sets the cup on the table. "That's all I have to give."

"You're going to hurt him," Yoruichi says, but as much as she sounds reproachful, there's a lingering heartbreak too.

For him? For Kisuke? For both of them? Ichigo can't guess.

Swallowing thickly, Ichigo has to look away.

"I know," he replies quietly. "I know."

o0o0o

It's dark, and Kisuke can hear Ichigo's breathing. His body is warm and languid against Kisuke's, his heart beat a steady thump beneath Kisuke's ear. He smells like life. He feels like comfort. His reiatsu a steady vibration along Kisuke's senses, stretching out to touch against the edges of Kisuke's control.

Benihime hums, and Kisuke's own reiatsu reaches out hungrily, but there's only a brushing contact. A light touch of warmth, but no mingling, no weaving of their reiatsu.

Kisuke's not stupid. He just knows how to play the game as well as everyone else. He knows the truth, and it hurts as much as it soothes an unending hurt inside of him.

Ichigo isn't in love with him. Ichigo likes him, trusts him, considers him a dear friend, but he'll never see Kisuke as a permanent lover. No matter how long they keep up this farce, Kisuke knows that it will eventually come to an end. Ichigo will tire of lying to him. Kisuke will tire of lying to himself. And one or both of them will walk away with heavy hearts and sheets of regret.

They probably won't talk much after that. It'll kill their friendship as much as everything else. Their relationship will be awkward, full of the hurt they threw on each other. Full of the lies and the pity-borne promises. Ichigo won't be able to look at Kisuke without feeling guilty, and Kisuke won't be able to see Ichigo without his heart breaking.

Ichigo isn't in love with him, and Kisuke is startlingly aware of that fact. He knows that eventually, Ichigo won't need him to soothe those nightmares and those war-old hurts. Ichigo will want to be free to look for someone he can actually love, someone who is not Kisuke. And eventually, Kisuke will have to let him go. Will have to pretend to be surprised and hurt, like he didn't see him coming, like he hasn't been lying in turn all along.

Frankly, Kisuke's not even sure who's going to be hurt worse in the end. Does knowing something is coming make it any easier to bear?

Kisuke's not that strong. Not brave or wise enough to say no. He's not strong enough to tell Ichigo to end things now, to turn him away since it would be in their better interest. He's not a good enough man to turn down the things he wants, just for a moment, a blink, a second of comfort and happiness.

He even lies to himself these days, pretends that he doesn't know. Pretends that those soft smiles and gentle touches and quiet nights in are reality and Ichigo means it. Sometimes, Kisuke even fakes himself into thinking that it's all real. At night, like this, Kisuke has become the master of self-delusion.

All he can think is that Aizen would laugh his ass off.

o0o0o

Kisuke's the one in love, and yet he feels like he's the one leading Ichigo on. That he's the one building lie upon lie. That mistruths fall from his lips and every touch is a sin.

Those soothing touches turn to fire, searing his skin, making him tremble in all the wrong ways. It's getting harder to crack a smile, to draw comfort from Ichigo's embrace. All he can feel is the _lie_, the realization that he's only delaying the inevitable. That he has to pull his courage from somewhere, man up and take the agony.

He can't rely on Ichigo forever. He can't linger in his cowardice, running away from the things that haunt him. He can't keep Ichigo trapped in this farcical romance that isn't. Ichigo deserves the chance to find someone who truly captures his heart.

Ichigo's a good man, and Kisuke's taking advantage of that, taking a hold of Ichigo's kindness and twisting it for his own ends. He wants Ichigo to be his hero just like Seireitei has done for all those years. It makes him sick, makes his insides twist up with guilt.

He has to end this. He needs to end this.

"Kisuke?"

He turns, lips curving upward without his permission.

"Sorry. Lost in thought for a minute there," he replies and leans in, head resting on Ichigo's shoulder. His ears are attuned to the steady sound of Ichigo's heartbeat, this warmth he's so reluctant to abandon.

Ichigo's fingers are curled around his hand, thumb lightly stroking his palm, tracing sword callouses and old chemical burns.

"It's fine," he murmurs.

Kisuke's heart clenches in his chest. How can he let this go?

o0o0o

It's like a punch to the gut. A sword to the throat. A kidoh to the chest. Ichigo shouldn't be this upset, but it still feels like his world has been tossed asunder. Like he's left without solid ground to stand on.

He doesn't love Kisuke, but he still feels like he's losing something. Something he can't get back, worth more than he ever realized. They've always been friends first and foremost, but Ichigo knows without a shadow of a doubt that even that aspect of their relationship has also been broken beyond repair.

As much as he wants to protest, Ichigo knows that he can't. Because deep in shadows of his heart, he has known this day would come. He has waited for it, anticipated it, and he desires it as much as he still thinks to cling to the familiar.

And yet, Ichigo still feels wrong. Like this is too soon. That he's not ready to let go of what they have. That sometimes, lies are more beautiful than the truth.

He clears his throat, lifts his gaze to Kisuke's, and manages one word. One word which creaks out of his throat, over his dry tongue, and past his cracked lips.

"Why?"

o0o0o

This is much harder than it should be.

Kisuke draws in a shuddery breath, closes his eyes to gather his composure, and opens them again.

"Don't you understand?" he asks, his voice quiet, lacking its usual exuberance and teasing. "It has to be soon. Now. This is what I'm telling you."

Ichigo's just looking at him, those brown eyes filled with emotion. Like he's the one breaking inside and Kisuke's the cruel one for doing what must be done. Like this is coming as a surprise when they both know it isn't.

Kisuke's finally found his resolve. But a part of him wishes he could abandon it all over again, just to go back, reclaim that fake happiness, go on pretending forever. But he _can't_.

"You've really done a lot for me," he continues, and try as he might, he can't smile. "All my wishes have come true. That's enough."

_It's not_. By the gods, it's not enough. But it has to be.

Embraces in the dead of night. Friendly, surprise kisses in the middle of the day. Their reiatsu delicately intertwined. The scent of Ichigo on his sheets. The sound of his laughter filling Kisuke's all too silent home. The taste of Ichigo on his lips.

All these things, Kisuke will never have again. But he had them for a time. And that will be enough.

Kisuke swallows thickly, forces himself to keep going, the words so carefully crafted spilling out of him in a rush. "We can only go as far as we can go. There's nowhere else."

Part of him wants to reach out for Ichigo, drag him close, embrace him one last time as he speaks the words that will forever close that door. The wiser part of him clenches his hands into fists and leaves them pinned at his side, ignoring the way his heart is crying out and his insides are twisting into impenetrable knots.

"You're no good for me," Kisuke says in all honesty. "And... I'm no good for you. So this is it. This is as far as I'll let us go."

"It's over," Ichigo replies quietly, his voice equally broken, finishing what Kisuke can't quite bring himself to say.

Kisuke inclines his head. "Yes."

A moment of silence sweeps into the room, bringing with it an uncommon chill. The moment is awkward and painful. Kisuke feels he should say something else, apologize even, but the words won't come. They die on his tongue, leaving him clinging to a false memory.

Ichigo is the first to break the standstill. He moves, a bare step that bridges the distance between them, his hand lifting, tilting Kisuke's chin upward. He doesn't remember lowering his gaze to the floor.

"I wish I loved you," Ichigo says softly, and the pain in his eyes matches only one other look Kisuke remembers seeing before. A time when Ichigo had stood in the middle of a battlefield grown cold, blood staining Zangetsu, clothes tattered, head bowed and shoulders slumped. Even in victory, Ichigo felt only pain.

That Kisuke is the cause of that very same agonized look only makes the knife twist a little sharper, the guilt sink its claws even deeper.

"I know," Kisuke replies, and the smile that flutters on his lips bleeds around the edges. "Thank you."

Ichigo has nothing more to say, and it's better that way, Kisuke thinks. Much easier in the long run, for the both of them.

His fingers fall away from Kisuke's chin and he steps past Kisuke, heading for the door. He takes with him the buzz of familiar reiatsu, the scent of citrus and sandalwood, the taste of grief, and the pieces of Kisuke that have always belonged to him.

The click of the front door closing seems to echo abnormally loud in the equally abnormal silence of Kisuke's home. It feels colder too, but that's probably just the knowledge of the snowfall beyond his window. It has nothing to do with the emptiness within.

Nothing at all.

* * *

a/n: I love this pairing. I love angst. It seems only natural that the two should go together.

Feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading!


	198. Past Imperfect Catastasis

a/n: This is the last piece of Past Imperfect. Please enjoy!**  
**

**Title: Past Imperfect (Catastasis)**

**Characters: Ichigo, Urahara, ensemble**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: character death, angst, AU-ish**

**Words: 6,284**

**Description: The war continues, but the future has a way of changing despite the best of intentions.**

* * *

War continues. Such a thing is inevitable. For the most part, the details have remained constant from the future Ichigo knows. That makes it easier to change things. To fix what was broken.

And sometimes, reliving battles of the past is more painful than Ichigo can bear. It's a heavier burden than he knew he'd have to carry. It weighs on him, drags him down.

Night is the worst. Night is when his body rests but his mind wanders, memories coming to life in stark relief much to his own heartache. He doesn't ask for them, but they come anyway. Night is full of the past, and while Ichigo doesn't wish to _forget_, he does hope for a reprieve.

Rarely is he granted one.

The first time Kisuke wakes him up from a nightmare, heart pounding in his chest, sheets clinging to sweat-soaked skin, Ichigo stares at him with wide eyes. His fist is an inch from the shopkeeper's face and his reiatsu flaring outward in obvious threat. If Kisuke is struggling under the onset of Hollow-infused reiatsu, he doesn't show it.

"Nightmare?" the blond asks as Ichigo flops back onto the futon, throwing his arm up over his eyes.

Ichigo grunts out an affirmative. There's a rustle as Kisuke settles into a crouch beside his futon.

"Want to talk about it?"

Damn. Talking is the _last_ thing Ichigo wants to do. Better that he just concentrate on the future and the success he's going to have.

"No."

"Understandable." Kisuke puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a companionable squeeze. "Let's get you some tea."

Ichigo sits back up. His body is still thrumming with fight or flight instincts. He won't be going to sleep anytime soon.

"No. I'll make it."

"What's wrong with my tea?" Kisuke puts in with a huff.

"Other than the fact it's fucking disgusting?" He throws off the twisted sheets and crawls to his feet with much less grace than he usually manages.

The blond's lips purse in a fake pout. "I'll have you know its drinkable," he retorts with an indignant air.

"Kisuke, even if I was in Hueco Mundo desperate for water, I wouldn't drink your tea." Ichigo drags a hand through his hair, making it spike in several directions.

"It's not that bad," Kisuke protests, leading Ichigo out of the guest bedroom he'd claimed for his own use and into the kitchen. "Besides, how would you know? You've never tasted it before."

Ichigo pauses in the doorway. A dark emotion cascades through him and chases away the humorous atmosphere that had been grudgingly trying to establish itself.

"You forget," he murmurs, "I've had it before."

Kisuke gazes at him for a moment before his face softens. "Oh. Right." His shoulders slump as he moves the kettle to the sink to fill with water. "Sometimes... it's hard to tell the difference."

Unfortunately, Ichigo understands that all too well.

o0o0o

Time ticks on. June shifts into July, plummets into August, and catapults over September, landing somewhere in October with a resounding clash of the renewing of hostilities.

Aizen is testing their skills, their defenses. Ichigo remembers this battle, remembers it being a surprise that had taken so many of them. Including Renji, who thought himself powerful enough to stand against Ulquiorra alone. He'd been so very wrong, and the consequences were such that Renji's death is the first one that Ichigo learned what it meant to mourn.

Later, there would be dozens others, but Renji's always stands poignant in his thoughts as the first of many to come. It is the shifting point in Ichigo's life, when he truly realized that it was _war_ and many, many more were going to die. The possibility was there, lurking in every shadow.

This time, however, things are different.

Ichigo can warn them ahead of time, and he does. Though he manages to do so without referencing the fact he knows the future. Simply drawing their attention to an anomalous reiatsu that leads to the Gotei 13 discovering Aizen's intended entry point into the living world does the trick just fine.

This time, they lose no one. This time, the Vizard work _together_ with the Shinigami, dispatching Aizen's attacking force of Vasto Lordes without a single fatality amongst them. Oh, there are injuries to be sure but nothing lethal.

A burst of pride blossoms within Ichigo. He can do this. He can alter the course of the war. The proof lies right here in front of him with Renji still alive and kicking and determined to get stronger. If he's embarrassed about siding with Grimmjow to send Ulquiorra fleeing back to Aizen with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs, the redhead doesn't show it. In fact, he and Grimmjow seem to be forming a friendship based on the sheer amount of destruction they can cause together.

'_It's worth it_,' Ichigo thinks to himself as he watches the two – Shinigami and Arrancar – trade barbed words. '_Whatever lies I have to tell, this makes it worth it._'

o0o0o

It's about two weeks after that history-altering battle that Rukia comes to him. Ichigo, for the most part, has avoided spending time with anyone who knows him well enough to notice the differences in his behavior. Clearly, Rukia has noticed this. Though there's something about this particular situation that strikes a peculiar chord within Ichigo.

It seems... _familiar_.

"It feels like I hardly see you anymore," Rukia comments as they walk together down the streets of Seireitei, deftly ignoring the lower-ranked Shinigami who stare as they pass. "You've been... _distant_."

"I've been busy," Ichigo corrects and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. "This is a war."

"I know." Rukia huffs a sigh then skips ahead of him and forces Ichigo to stop lest he crash into her. She looks up at him, eyes bright and vivid. "But I'd like to think that we are… _friends_."

By her hesitation, however, Ichigo is quite certain that she means something else. He's not ignorant of the speculation amongst their friends about the depths of their relationship. He knows that the others already think they're lovers of some sort, but he honestly thought Rukia was ignoring the rumors same as he.

Could she possibly _believe _them? And why is this sounding so familiar?

"Am I wrong?" Rukia asks, stepping closer and looking up at him. Something buzzes in the small distance between them.

"We are friends," Ichigo says definitively, still trying to rack his brain. He's memorized so much of the prior war he'd forgotten some of the mundane details. Like the daily life things that happened between bloody battles. "I've just been... busy."

"Well, don't be." Rukia sighs, her gaze cutting away for a minute as she shakes her head. "This war... it's not ending anytime soon. Aizen's relentless. And today was a close call. Too close. Who knows if we'll live to see the end of it?"

Ichigo doesn't particularly like the maudlin to her voice. "We're going to win," he assures her, though he can't tell her all the details _why_ he knows it's certain.

"Oh, I know that. But it still got me to thinking." She bites her lip for a moment before returning her eyes to his, something determined shining behind them. "We could all die tomorrow. And there's a lot of things I haven't said or done that I don't want to feel regret over."

The eerie feeling of deja vu creeps up Ichigo's back and sits on the nape of his neck with spindly fingers.

"Uh..."

Rukia sets her jaw. "And I've decided there's a least _one_ thing I'm not hold back on."

Suddenly, Ichigo remembers why this is so familiar with a frantic jolt to his reiatsu. His eyes widen in alarm as Rukia leans toward him with intent.

Ichigo holds up a hand, stopping before she can get within a foot of his lips. "You don't want to do that," he warns as embarrassment tints his cheeks as he remembered what happened in the _other_ timeline.

Rukia grabs his arm and shoves it down. "I'm sorry. _What?"_

"You _really_ don't want to do that," Ichigo repeats, shaking his head. "I'm not the one you really like, just the one you think you can have."

Which doesn't make much sense in retrospect.

Confusion replaces the humiliation coloring Rukia's face.

"_How do you know that?_"

"Just trust me. I know," Ichigo retorts and decides that it's in his best interest to lay it all out in the open, here and now. Well, the relevant details at any rate. "Besides, I don't like girls... err, women."

Her reiatsu flares with utter surprise. Rukia takes a noticeable step backward.

"When were you going to tell me this?"

Honestly? Never if he could get away with it.

"I'm telling you right now," Ichigo insists diplomatically.

She gives him a look, one Ichigo has learned to identify as 'you and every man I know are morons'.

"And how long have you known this important detail?"

Again, his past self wouldn't have stumbled upon this little revelation until the end of Aizen's long war. But Ichigo, future self inhabiting the past, has known for a while now. It's all a matter of perspective.

"Years."

Rukia quirks an eyebrow. "Since before you even knew me?"

Sure, why not? Keep things simple.

"Yeah."

She nods slowly and chews on her bottom lip. Looks him up and down.

"You know, it explains so much."

Ichigo's jaw drops. "What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

It's not like he's flagrant or anything about it.

"How did I not see it sooner?" Rukia mutters, clearly speaking to herself and not him. "It must not be my brother. Or Renji." She pauses, eyeing him critically. "Is it?"

"What? No!"

Ichigo can't hide his grimace and doesn't bother to try. Renji is his friend, yes, and Byakuya an ally he likes to tease, but romantically? Not in this lifetime or the next!

"Not even close!"

"Then who is it?" Rukia, all thoughts of romantic interactions between them abruptly gone as though they'd never been there at all, peers at him closer.

He opens his mouth to answer _no one_, but then, that would be a lie, too. He's already done enough of that. There is someone who he considers out of reach. Someone who knows the truth about his existence and might even return the feelings.

But the Ichigo this person loves is a lie. A shadow of the Ichigo he used to know. He can't take advantage of it. Of anything. He's been half-lying this whole time. Relationships can't be built on that. They can't.

"It doesn't matter." Ichigo rubs fingers across his forehead where he feels an aching starting to build. "It just... It doesn't matter."

It's the truth. One of the few he's been able to keep. Whatever lies between he and Kisuke must be kept platonic for all of their sakes.

It's the way things have to be.

o0o0o

"Aizen-taichou asked me!" Hinamori screeches, struggling against both the kidoh that bind her and the thick metal chains. "He said I was the only one who could do it! He needed me!"

Ichigo watches, completely apathetic, as the psychotic woman is hauled away by Iba and Ikkaku, two of the few people capable of restraining her thrashing form. For such a small thing, she not only packs quite the punch but is fiercely strong. Does the insanity grant her strength?

Beside him, Matsumoto-san sighs. She sounds both forlorn and guilty.

"I honestly didn't…. I didn't think... If not for Kuchiki-taichou noticing what was going on..."

She'd be dead.

Matsumoto-san doesn't have to say it aloud; Ichigo knows. He remembers her from his past, stabbed in the back, never even saw it coming. Hinamori had been the reason they'd lost so many of the earlier skirmishes, how Aizen had always seemed to know where their troops were or when the heavy-hitters weren't available.

In the past, Hinamori had died at Ichigo's own hands. This time, however, she'd live long enough to be tried for her crimes. Honestly, Ichigo doesn't know which fate is more just. He supposes he could contribute her willingness to betray her friends and family to madness. Hinamori could certainly use the insanity defense.

But in her eyes, she'd do anything for Aizen-taichou. Because he loves her, treats her special, and there will never be an equal. An insanity that's soul deep, and frankly, Ichigo doesn't think she can ever be rehabilitated.

"We owe Byakuya for a lot of things," Ichigo says if only to agree with her. "And now, Aizen has one less spy in our ranks."

Matsumoto-san stares at him with eyes on the verge of tears. "You think there's more?" she murmurs.

Ichigo shrugs. "I honestly don't know."

At least, none others had been exposed or made their presence known in the war he lived through. Then again, there were so few of them left alive that sides hadn't mattered by the end.

Matsumoto-san breathes a sigh that might be relief. Her eyes are red. Swollen from the tears she hasn't even shed.

"I don't think any of us could bear any more traitors. It's enough to dishearten anyone." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "By the gods, I need a drink."

She turns to go.

Suddenly, Ichigo's mouth is dry. Frankly, he could use a drink, too. A whole jug of sake to be more precise. He moves to follow her.

"I'll join you."

o0o0o

"Checkmate."

Kisuke huffs and sits back, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "Nowadays, I can't remember a time when I used to win."

"Some of these tricks you taught me," Ichigo replies with a light grin, gaze roaming over the chessboard and recalling all the moves he'd made. "Rematch?"

"So I can suffer through another agonizing defeat?" The blond huffs out noisily, though there's a trace of amusement in his irritation. "I think I've learned my lesson."

Ichigo shakes his head. "If you say so."

He reaches out, starting to reset the board. Inevitably, Kisuke will give in at some point. He enjoys their games too much.

"It was you, wasn't it?"

He pauses, brow crinkling with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Kisuke leans back in his chair, propping his chin on his fist. "You're the one who told Byakuya to take a closer look at the senkaimon records."

"In a roundabout way," Ichigo allows and watches Kisuke out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

"It was a very... Aizen thing to do."

Ichigo abandons resetting the board. He straightens so that he can look Kisuke in the face.

"Oh?"

Kisuke nibbles on his lower lip for a long moment as though debating his words before he finally speaks. "Aizen used to be good at chess, too, you know. He had a knack for plotting ten, fifteen, even twenty moves ahead of his opponents." He pauses, fingers of his free hand rapping a discordant beat over the table. "He was unafraid of sacrificing his pieces for the sake of the larger picture."

Ichigo is silent for a moment. Contemplative.

"Your point?"

"You're becoming a lot like him," Kisuke replies and is surprisingly blunt about the whole thing considering his earlier reluctance. "Scarily so, in fact."

Ichigo frowns but not out of offense or displeasure. He cocks his head to the side.

"Is that so terrible a thing?"

Grey eyes widen perceptibly. He's made Kisuke speechless. Unsurprising since he's all but admitted that he's behaving much like the man they're determined to defeat.

Ichigo isn't blind to this. He realizes that he's become ruthless in some ways. Impersonal. Heartless. He's had to make tough choices. He's had to consider the costs, the sacrifices needed in order to prevent future deaths. His methods have saved more lives than lost. He's altered the course of the war.

He's become someone else in the process, yes. But then, he wasn't entirely himself when he chose to return to the past in the first place.

The Ichigo everyone in this timeline knew has been dead for a very long time.

"We lost, Kisuke. Remember?" he asks, unflinching in the face of his own lie. Then again, by his reckoning, they _had_ lost the war. It was a Pyrrhic victory at best. "I refuse to let that happen again. And I will do whatever it takes."

He rises from his chair, leaving the room on that flat statement. Kisuke doesn't try to follow.

This is the way things must be. Ichigo won't – _can't_ – apologize for it.

o0o0o

Battles come and go with startling regularity. They are small skirmishes, nothing more than Aizen testing the waters, stretching the breadth of his reach. Injuries are mild at best, a broken limb at worse. No fatalities, for which Ichigo is grateful.

The current timeline seems to match with the past Ichigo remembers down to the letter. Well, there are tiny inconsistencies, places where once-dead fighters are alive to lend a hand or smaller battles that were skipped because Aizen's forces had already been defeated. But for the most part, Ichigo is confident in his success.

It seems possible; it seems like this is going to work. He's treading so carefully, measuring each choice before he makes it. He's confident but not too bold. He's determined but not unwilling to make the necessary, hard choices. He's doing as much as he can, saving as many lives as possible.

It's a victory in every sense of the word. He can do this. He can win this war. He can _change_ the future.

Until Hell reaches out and grabs him, reminding him that in the end, he's only mortal.

o0o0o

He's standing in Kisuke's kitchen, waiting for a pot of water to boil when he feels the sharp, stuttered rise of reiatsu. There's something oddly familiar about it. He frowns, senses expanding outward to identify the fighter.

At the table, Kisuke looks up at him, likely sensing the reiatsu as well.

"Who is..."

Another sharp burst, this one stronger, the cry of a Shinigami facing odds that are more than he can defeat. The familiarity turns into recognition, and Ichigo feels his heart skip several beats.

Kisuke jerks up from his chair, throwing it backward. The blood drains from his face.

"Isshin," he identifies, voice thick with horror.

Ichigo shakes his head. He's already starting for the door, urgency making his legs tremble.

"No," he says, near-shouting as he throws open the door and slides into a shunpo effortlessly, Kisuke right beside him. "No, no, _no. _It's not possible."

He leaves Kisuke in the dust. In the past, he's always been marginally faster than the shopkeeper, but something else gives him speed now. He's stronger than he's ever been, and there's no one who can match his pace now.

Even so, by the time he arrives, Ichigo is too late. To be fair, by the time he sensed the abnormal surge of reiatsu, it was too late.

What was once a child's playground is now the site of a vicious, bloody battle. The twisted metal wreckage of what had once been monkey bars and a swing set lay smoking in a blackened sand pit. Ash coats the ground in several dark clumps, giving evidence to the Hollow that was killed before Ichigo's arrival.

The victors had fled the scene, perhaps sensing Ichigo growing closer. Ichigo and the other reinforcements he can sense coming. Kisuke is less than a mile behind him, and Renji and Ikkaku are nearby. Nearby but not nearly close enough.

Touching down in the middle of the desolated playground, Ichigo feels sick to his stomach. Blood is everywhere, splattered around like a macabre painting. Nevertheless, he does locate what seems to be the main source, finding a crumbled form wrapped in Shinigami black. A once-white strip of fabric winds around the fallen man's upper chest; it's now torn to ribbons.

He doesn't understand. This wasn't how it happened in the past. At all. Nothing similar. Isshin had died protecting Karin and Yuzu. Their house had been destroyed, but the twins had been safe.

Ichigo knows for a fact that his sisters are at school right now, safe and secure, with an invisible (to the average human) Rukia perched nearby. There's no reason for Isshin to have been _here_. There's no reason for him to have been dragged into battle. He's not even revealed himself to be a Shinigami in this timeline yet!

The truth, however, is in front of him, Broken and very much defeated. Dead. Gone. _Again_.

Ichigo had failed. Utterly.

His legs wobble, refusing to hold his weight, and Ichigo sinks to his knees. He grips his thighs with white-knuckled hands, reiatsu locked tight for fear of what he might destroy if he loses his control.

He was supposed to save his father. All of his calculations and his plans had indicated that it wouldn't affect the course of this timeline too strongly.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Isshin the truth. He hadn't gotten to say all the things he'd meant to say. He never got to apologize. He didn't get the opportunity to forgive Isshin either. This is supposed to be the second chance Ichigo so desperately wanted.

This... this is _his_ fault. It has to be. There's no other explanation. He's changed things, and now, Isshin's dead, and it's all Ichigo's fault.

Behind him, he hears a sharp inhalation of breath, followed by a brief burst of identifying reiatsu. Kisuke has finally caught up.

"Isshin," the shopkeeper whispers on an exhalation. "Oh, no. Ichigo..."

He senses, more than sees, Kisuke reaching for his shoulder. Ichigo twists out from under his hand, rocketing to his feet. He doesn't want the comfort. He doesn't deserve it.

"Don't." Ichigo shakes his head. "Just... _don't_. This wasn't supposed to happen. This... just don't."

He turns away from Kisuke, only to be left facing his father's bloodied and broken corpse. He has to... do something. Clean up. Give Isshin some dignity. Karin and Yuzu will have to be told.

By the gods... he has to tell them all over again. He has to watch their faces crumple with grief, fresh and old. He has to tell them that they're all orphans now. He has to do it again when the first time had been more than agony.

Kisuke, however, is not leaving him alone. "What do you mean, Ichigo?"

"The next attack was supposed to be next week," Ichigo murmurs, frantically searching his memory, trying to recall the main points of the previous timeline's war. "Aizen was supposed to send a horde of lesser Hollow into Rukongai just to cause some chaos. I don't... I did this."

"What?" Kisuke sounds startled and grabs for him. "No, Ichigo. _Aizen _did this."

Ichigo whirls around, grief and anger intermingling until he can't tell them apart. His thoughts are a jumble. Turning and curling and twisting until he can't think straight.

"No, I did. It didn't happen like this. But I've changed things. I've failed." His breath hitches, one hand wiping down his face. His fingers are wet, and he doesn't know why. "What else am I going to miss? What else is going to be different? How can I fix it, save everyone if nothing's the same anymore?"

His voices rises in pitch, echoing over the destroyed playground. Kisuke stares at him, grief etched into his own features, but he has no words. His hand is on Ichigo's wrist, and Ichigo isn't even sure when that happened.

"Holy shit. What the hell happened here?"

A familiar voice makes Ichigo startle. He glances to the left, spotting Ikkaku and Renji as they touch down. Too late, just like Ichigo.

"Hollow attack," Kisuke answers automatically; he still grips Ichigo as though fearing he'll suddenly disappear. "Sent by Aizen. It had a target."

Ikkaku starts poking around in the debris; Renji draws nearer and stares at the man on the ground like he can't even recognize him. Maybe he can't.

"Who is it?" the redhead asks bluntly.

"My father," Ichigo manages, voice hoarse.

He can feel it as both Ikkaku and Renji turn to gape at him. Ichigo can't bring himself to care.

He opens his mouth to continue, but words fail him. He just stands there numbly, not looking at anything. Kisuke's grip tightens until it's nearly painful. He's pulled Ichigo so close to him that they're touching from shoulder to hip, but his hand is probably the only thing that's keeping Ichigo on his feet.

"What-" Renji starts to ask, but he's cut off.

"We'll explain later," Kisuke interrupts, an odd note in his tone. "Could you send for a team to clear the area and try tracing the attacker's flight path?" He takes a deep breath and glances from Ichigo to Ikkaku to Renji. "I trust you will handle Kurosaki-san's body with care."

Renji's eyes flicker to Ichigo, but he nods anyway.

"Yeah, ya know I will. Damn, Ichigo, I'm sorry about this."

Not nearly as sorry as Ichigo himself. He jerks his head into the semblance of a nod, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Kisuke starts to usher Ichigo away. His expression is unreadable now.

"Come on," he urges Ichigo in the direction of the shouten. "Not here."

Not here?

But he can feel it, the trembling in his limbs, the way his breathing has started to increase. He's standing on the edge of breaking, and he can't bear for anyone to see him. It's understandable, but he fears he may let something slip in his grief.

So he lets Kisuke drag him back to the shouten and plunk him down in a bedroom on a futon left messy from the night before. He lets Kisuke set Zangetsu aside and then sit next to him, concern finally showing on his face. Ichigo's fingers clench and unclench. His eyes feel hot, his throat thick, and his body tense all over.

Isshin is dead for the second time, and part of Ichigo just feels numb. Broken. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. His fault. His mistake. He _failed_.

Kisuke is the first to break the silence.

"We didn't lose, did we?" he asks softly.

Though how he had come to this conclusion, Ichigo does not know. Kisuke is not a stupid man by any means.

Ichigo sighs. There is no point in lying any longer.

"We only won in the sense that by the end we were the ones still alive. What few of us there were."

Kisuke absorbs that for a second.

"How many?"

Ichigo shrugs. "Does it matter?"

Kisuke's hand grips his arm. "How many, Ichigo?" he demands, strongly this time, forcing Ichigo to look at him. "How many deaths are you carrying?"

Something cracks inside of Ichigo. Some measure of control he's barely managed to cling to. His shoulders sag.

"Too many," he replies, voice a bare whisper. "More than I can count. More than I could bear."

He sleeps at night, and he sees their faces. He watches them die. And every time he wakes, it's with a greater determination to see that future never come to pass.

"I failed," Ichigo continues, less to carry a conversation and more to voice the cascading thoughts within him. "My father's dead. I didn't see it coming. I couldn't prevent it. I couldn't protect him. I couldn't _save_ him."

Kisuke's grip shifts to Ichigo's shoulders, tightening, until he can feel the press of each individual finger.

"You can't save everyone," the man murmurs with a resigned sort of exasperation. "That's impossible. Illogical. The flow of time doesn't work that way."

Ichigo knows that. It's why he's been able to reason out certain losses. Why he's allowed himself to accept certain defeats and why he could endure allowing Inoue to be taken instead of stopping that from happening in the first place.

He's not an idealistic fool. But...

He looks up, meeting Kisuke's gaze firmly.

"I saved you," Ichigo counters because this he knows to be a truth.

Halibel is dead. She'll never be able to stab Kisuke in the back again.

Kisuke's eyes widen, his fingers again squeezing tighter in their grip. "You're going to tell me the truth," he says then and in a tone that brooks no argument. "About the past. About the future. _Everything_."

Ichigo nods sharply.

Truth. Yes. That is what he will give.

o0o0o

He expects the war to crumble. With Isshin's death, the rest of the war is surely a collapsing house of cards, a long, quick slide into defeat for Ichigo. He believes that he can no longer accurately predict what Aizen will do because he has changed too much. He fears there's nothing he can do.

Kisuke is the one to shake him out of his pessimism.

"Together," the blond says. "You know the future. I know the present. We'll do it together."

And they do.

Ichigo tells Kisuke everything, every step of the past that he can remember. Every death, every lost battle, every destroyed battleground. He leaves nothing major out, save for the one detail he keeps to himself. It is personal and of no consequence to the war effort.

Kisuke helps him bear some of the burden, but Ichigo still takes the weight of the more difficult decisions on his own shoulders.

He has to be more careful. Above all else, Aizen must not win. That is Ichigo's only goal. Nothing else matters.

o0o0o

Ichigo doesn't tell Kisuke about the next large battle. He's confident that it will not change from his own timeline because it was a marked victory for Aizen, the attack that took the Shinigami completely by surprise. That had Aizen put into perfect place.

Kisuke is under the impression that the battle was later in the war. Ichigo regrets his lie because of everyone, Kisuke deserves to know the truth. But he doesn't want his closest confidante to bear the burden of _this_ choice.

He has to let Hisagi die.

Inoue was different. Ichigo knew she wouldn't be harmed. At most, she would be frightened, a bit rattled and discomforted. But she wouldn't be killed. She'd live, so while he felt some guilt for letting her to be taken, it's nothing like the weight of Hisagi on his shoulders.

He might as well have killed Hisagi himself. But no, Ichimaru is the one who does it.

Hisagi must die to keep the war on the right course. He's a rallying cry in many ways. Kira's motivations become firmer. Aizen thinks himself to be winning. He'll keep on the path that Ichigo knows best.

He has to let Hisagi die. He has to sacrifice a pawn to win the game.

o0o0o

This is his punishment.

Ichigo kneels on the blood-soaked earth of the battlefield and gently drags his shaking fingertips over Chad's face, closing his sightless eyes. Once again, Ichigo had not been able to prevent this. Once again, he'd been too late. Once again, he had failed.

Or perhaps failure is too strong of a word.

Ichigo's head dips in apology to his fallen friend. His insides feel as though they are being squeezed by a much larger hand.

In his own timeline, Chad had lived through the war. He was scarred, both inside and out. But he was alive.

In his own timeline, Ishida had been the one to fall in this battle. Ichigo had protected him this time around. He hadn't suffered so much as a broken limb.

But no one had been there for Chad. And this is Ichigo's punishment.

'_I've become the monster I am fighting.' _

Yet, the thought does not fill him with as much self-revulsion as it had in previous moments. Ichigo can feel it. Something in the air, something that buzzes with ripe certainty. The war is drawing to a close. Things have changed from Ichigo's timeline, but others have remained the same.

Aizen is getting desperate. The Shinigami have a better foothold this time. Aizen will be defeated; it's only a matter of time.

o0o0o

The smell of ash and spilled blood is heavy in the air. The taste of it is thick on Ichigo's tongue. The sound of swords clashing and kidoh firing echo in his ears. Somewhere, there is mourning.

The Hougyoku has been destroyed but not without its sacrifices.

Ichigo is tired. Weary. Ready to see the end of this. His muscles are heavy, Zangetsu heavier. Even Shirosaki has lost the urge to sneer.

He isn't without his injuries. One arm dangles useless at his side, blood-soaked and dislocated. He can't see from one eye, and Ichigo honestly doesn't know if it's because he's been blinded or the blood streaming from his forehead. He's wrenched his knee and been sliced in the side.

But he's still standing, and that's what matters.

This is the moment. It has all come down to this.

To Aizen, glaring up at him with blood streaming from his lips, confusion and hatred spilling from his eyes. His army has fallen with less loss to the Shinigami than the past has shown.

The war has come down to Aizen and Ichigo. To Aizen's surprise. Confusion. The bare thrum of his reiatsu as it spills out of him as though it were as tangible as blood.

"How?" Aizen questions. "Every plan I made. Every action I took. Somehow, you _knew_."

"I did," Ichigo answers, his voice as fatigued as Aizen's. His fingers white-knuckled around Zangetsu's hilt. His reiatsu a rattled, wild force that weakens with every pulse of his spirit. "And you'll die without knowing why."

The overlord's face twists with an expression of fury and defeat, blood bubbles out of his mouth, and the sword at Ichigo's feet crackles visibly like a mirror that's been shattered.

"You've defeated me," Aizen says, as though his admission is the only thing making it true. "But I'll die with a victory."

He moves fast, faster than Ichigo could have anticipated, perhaps using the last of his will and strength and reiatsu. And even then, Ichigo feels the hot slice of pain through him before he registers what Aizen has done, that he's struck.

Kyouka Suigetsu crumbles within Ichigo, but the damage is done. The blow is final. Ichigo sinks to his knees.

He should be raging. He should be furious and disappointed. Ichigo should be filled with grief and regret, bemoaning all the things he hasn't done and hasn't said.

But as the black sweeps over him, and the silence where even Shirosaki and Zangetsu have nothing to say, Ichigo feels relieved.

After that, nothing more.

o0o0o

He's in Seireitei, a place he always wondered if he'd ever freely enter again. There, on the Soukyoku Hill where it all began, the world looks a lot different to Kisuke. There's something in the air, something near-tangible, a reminder that nothing will ever be the same.

There's also something – _someone_ – missing. Kisuke tries, but he can't shake the sensation of that lingering absence.

The sound of waraji over the rocky turf announces the presence of another person. Kisuke is unsurprised at his visitor.

"He loved you, you know," Ukitake says, his voice quiet as he moves to stand beside Kisuke.

Both of them look out over a sleeping Seireitei below.

Kisuke's eyes close as he inhales audibly. There are things he should've said. Should've done. But Ichigo had been young on the outside if not the inside. And they would've had to hide. Had to pretend. And Ichigo had to pretend too much already. Kisuke had wanted to wait. Just a little while. Just until Ichigo's outward appearance caught up.

He sighs.

"I knew."

Ukitake blinks. Puzzled. Shocked.

"Then... _why_?"

"He seemed determined to wait for something. I thought it would be wiser to let him wait until he was ready." Kisuke pauses, considering his words. "I thought he knew something I didn't."

Ukitake shifts. "You think he knew he would die?"

"He's not dead!" Kisuke retorts, perhaps a bit too sharply. He pauses to gather his composure. "He was stronger than any of us could fathom. He did not die. But he's not here, and that is also an unarguable fact. I don't know what Ichigo knew. He didn't tell me everything."

Ukitake's eyes are sad. So sad. Too sad.

"Not even the things he should have."

"Not even," Kisuke agrees softly. He turns toward Ukitake, sympathizing with the grief in the other man's dark eyes. "I'm sorry to hear about your losses."

Ukitake exhales softly. "Maybe it's better this way. From what Ichigo implied..." His gaze lowers as he trails off. "In the end, I can handle living without Shunsui. Though what that says about me and my feelings, I don't know."

"It speaks better of your strength," the blond reassures him.

"If you say so." Ukitake shifts his gaze back to the horizon, where pinks and golds chase away the dark of the night. "What now?"

"Now?"

Kisuke feels a smile twitch at the corner of his lips, combating against the overwhelming regret. He doesn't for a minute think that Ichigo is dead. Not until he sees proof. Not until he finds a body. And maybe not even then.

But he can be patient. He can wait.

And in the meantime, he'll be the kind of man Ichigo needs.

"Now," Kisuke repeats, "we live. It's what he came back for us to do."

* * *

a/n: I welcome all commentary. This is the last part of Past Imperfect. Two more drabbles to come. One which is HitsugayaxKarin and the other is the last part of the _A Thousand Suns _series (which is UraharaxAizen). Feedback is welcome.


	199. A Silence in Winter

**Title: A Silence in Winter**

**Pairings: Hitsugaya/Karin**

**Rating: T**

**Words: 3,112**

**Warning: Het, Angst, Character Death, Het**

**Description: There are probably worse tortures, but right now, Toushirou can't think of one more heart-breaking than this. **

* * *

Their first kiss takes Toushirou by surprise. One moment they're walking along a crowded street, Karin boldly slipping her fingers into his, when she draws him to a halt. He's confused, turns to question her. But she squeezes his hand and rises up on her toes. There in front of all and sundry, she steals his lips and makes away with his first kiss.

It's just like her to do that, too. She grins at him afterward, looking up with bright eyes. Her tongue runs over her lips like she's sampled something she'd like to try again.

"That all right?" she asks.

It's more than all right, but for once Toushirou is absolutely speechless.

"You..."

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that," she says with a wink and starts forward again, tugging him to follow. "Wonder what else I can surprise you with."

"You..."

Karin laughs at his flabbergasted expression, completely unrepentant.

She's always been like that, completely shocking, shoving him out of his comfort zone, but honestly, it's what Toushirou has always needed. She's so _not_ Hinamori, and Toushirou has never been so grateful for that. Karin is his saving grace. She's what he wants. She's everything he needs.

She's also human.

Toushirou knows better than to ask, though the request dances on the tip of his tongue through her twenties and thirties. He watches as she ages before his eyes, and Toushirou only grows incrementally.

Part of him wishes he were brave enough to ask her to abandon her human shell, to go ahead and join him in Soul Society. Another part of him fears her answer. She doesn't want to be like her brother. Though to be fair, Ichigo hadn't been given much of a choice. He didn't have a body to return to, unless he wished to live out his human span in a gigai.

Toushirou knows her too well. He knows that Karin wouldn't want to leave her sister behind or her father. That it would be unfair for him to even ask. So he doesn't. He tells himself that they have a lifetime, once Karin's human form has returned to dust. He reminds himself that as a Shinigami, they can have centuries. Millennia even.

He can wait these few decades.

He doesn't ask her to marry him for that very reason. Toushirou argues to himself that it can wait until they are together in Soul Society. That she can't very well tell her friends in Karakura that she's married to an intangible spirit. Or that she's even married to the short teenage-looking man they always see her with.

It's something else to wait for.

He contents himself with visiting as often as he can. With being by her side even when their age difference becomes ridiculous. When they start confusing him for her grandson. Toushirou endures because that means he hasn't much longer to wait.

Soon, she'll be his alone.

Toushirou just has to wait, to be patient.

Fortunately, patience is something he's developed a knack for over the years. His fiery pique has tempered itself, shifting to a calm that serves him well. Oh, he can react with cold fury if a situation presents itself, but he's no longer so quick to anger. He's matured, though his appearance is only gradually catching on to that maturity.

Karin teases him about it often. She jokingly calls him her grandson when he's holding her wrinkled hand, veins so prominent. He calls her a bag of bones right back, and they might as well be pet names. No one else gets it, but that's okay.

In Toushirou's world, everything's all right.

Until the day that Toushirou comes to visit, and Karin can't remember his name.

He feels like he should've seen it coming. Alzheimer's, the doctors in the living world call it. It's a degenerative disease, one that worsens with age. It's incurable. Toushirou's read that it can cause memory loss, but for some reason, he thought that it wouldn't affect Karin as badly. He thought that her Shinigami abilities would protect her from the worst of it.

Everything started when she couldn't find her keys. Considering she always put them in the same place, that should've been a clue.

Then she started forgetting appointments and important dates. She didn't show up for two dinners Toushirou reserved for them. She forgot Ichigo's birthday. She lost time, forgetting what day it was.

And then one day, Toushirou walks in to see her, and for a moment, she doesn't recognize him. She smiles, holds out her hand, asks why such a handsome young man would be visiting an old woman like her.

Toushirou's heart stutters in his chest. His reiatsu surges before he can dampen it, and he stares at her, certain he must resemble a madman. The walls rattle, Karin blinks, and then she tells him to get the hell out of the doorway; he's blocking the entrance.

She recognizes him again. Perhaps it has something to do with his reiatsu, unmistakable when it twines with her own. Toushirou doesn't know. But he breathes a sigh of relief, plants a smile on his lips, and strides into the room. If a touch of reiatsu is all it takes, then that's what he will use.

It works for the next couple of months. Every time she gives him a blank look, a confused stare, every time she forgets his name or how they met or forgets _him, _Toushirou lets his reiatsu gently tangle with hers and everything is all right again.

Not easy. Not perfect. But all right for now.

He reminds himself to be patient. Humans don't live forever, and soon, they can both be happy in Soul Society. It's only a matter of time.

One day he comes to visit. He brings a bouquet of lilies, her favorite, and a copy of the book they've been reading together. Just something to pass the time since her strength doesn't stand up for much else. Karin's bedridden now, though there's still a fire in her eyes. She hasn't lost her wit either.

Toushirou walks in, and he can't help smiling at sight of her. Her hair has gone thin and white with age, cut short for easy maintaining. Her face is lined with wrinkles, eyes a bit sunken from insomnia. She's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

She wakes when he comes in. Her head tilts a little to the side.

"Who are you?" Karin questions, sounding confused but not concerned.

Toushirou smiles. This is a dance they've done before. He putters around the room, putting the flowers in a vase, and flares his reiatsu. Lets it spill through the room, soak into the walls, pulse from every corner.

He sits in the chair by her bedside, permanently reserved for him, and takes her small, wrinkled hand.

"It's me, Karin. Toushirou."

He waits for her acknowledgment. For the way she scowls at him like he's an idiot for thinking she's forgotten. He waits for the flash of memory in her eyes. For her demand for a kiss.

Toushirou waits for a recognition that doesn't come.

"Should I know you?" she questions and then chuckles softly. "I suppose it doesn't matter. I should be lucky that an adorable young man is visiting me."

A lump develops in Toushirou's throat. His heart does that shaky stutter thing again, uncertainty coiling in his gut. He tries again with the reiatsu, whispering prayers in the back of his mind.

"We're friends," Toushirou answers, clasping her hand between both of his, gently warming her chilled fingers. "And have been for a long time."

"Don't be silly," Karin shoots back, her beautiful eyes blank as they look at him. "Why, you're no older than a teenager!"

Toushirou swallows thickly. His throat is tight. Painful.

"I'm a bit older than that," he replies quietly and grasps for a semblance of normalcy. "I'm a friend of Ichigo's, too."

Karin hums for a second. "Hmm. Sorry I don't remember you. I don't think Ichigo's ever talked about a Toushirou."

He abruptly stands. Her face is so blank. So unrecognizing.

He can't do this.

Toushirou wants to say that he's the better man. That he has the courage to sit here and listen to Karin talk to him as though he were a stranger, but he doesn't. He's wholly unprepared for this.

He makes up an excuse, babbles something that makes no sense, and flees from the room as though Hollows were chasing him. There's a heat banking in his eyes, and he viciously forces it down. He feels he should've seen this coming but even knowing didn't make it any easier to bear.

Ichigo finds him in the living room, sitting on the couch. His face is buried in his palms, drawing shuddery breath after shuddery breath.

"She doesn't remember me," Toushirou states before Ichigo can even ask. "I don't even know if she can sense reiatsu anymore."

Ichigo sits next to him. He's spent the last year on leave from his position for the sole purpose of taking care of Karin. Toushirou had wanted to do the same, but they'd refused to lose two captains at the same time. Particularly over a mortal woman who they believe half-dead anyway.

They aren't brothers-in-law. Not really. Not technically. But they are friends, and Ichigo's voice is soft when he speaks.

"She can feel it, but she doesn't know what reiatsu is anymore. She calls it a tingle. It tickles apparently."

Something inside Toushirou crumbles.

"How long?"

"It's hard to say."

Ichigo lets out a sigh. His hair is still so orange, so vivid, and he looks so young. Karin mistakes him for a nephew most of the time. But that's still better than Toushirou gets.

"It's different for everyone," Ichigo tells him. "She's already bedridden. Months? Weeks? Days?"

Does it even matter at this point? Toushirou isn't sure, and he dreads finding out.

"Will she ever remember?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else.

Ichigo's quiet for a long moment, as though he's searching for a fair answer to give.

"Not in this lifetime," he finally says.

Toushirou shudders, sliding his eyes closed. "What can I do?"

"Nothing really. Keep visiting her. She might not remember you, but she'll appreciate the company," Ichigo replies, and he lets out a tired breath. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"I should be saying the same thing to you," Toushirou counters, but there's no bite to it. Not really.

Ichigo's not the one who's been forgotten. Still, the sentiment is appreciated. To know that even if she doesn't remember him, her family does. They know him. They want him there.

Ichigo leaves him alone after that, and Toushirou ruminates on what he should do. He debates with himself for a long hour.

In the end, his love for her wins out.

Over the next months, Toushirou continues to visit. He brings her flowers every week. He reintroduces himself time and time again. He watches with an aching heart as his dearly beloved loses her connection to reality, as she slips further away with each rise and set of the sun.

It gets harder to plant a smile on his lips. It's even worse telling himself to be patient. He feels like a villain for wishing she'd pass into Soul Society sooner rather than later. He doesn't know how much longer his strength will last.

But he keeps visiting. He holds her hand, and he tells her stories, _fairy tales_ as she rasps at him in her rare moments of coherence. She forgets her friends, her family. Sometimes, she slips into a distant past. Sometimes, Ichigo is her brother still. More often, he's a nephew. A stranger who cares for her.

Then, one day, she starts coughing. She doesn't stop. A week later, the cough comes with blood. Doctors tell them that there's nothing they can do. Her immune system no longer has the power to fight. It's only a matter of time.

Toushirou stays by her side for the duration, holding her hand, heart clenching at every broken wheeze. The old man is kind enough to put him on a medical leave of absence. Everyone agrees. This pain will be brief, and afterward, there will be happiness. Karin will wake in Soul Society, her reiatsu will blossom, and of course, she'll remember.

Of course she will.

Toushirou is there when she draws her last breath and her heart pumps its last beat. He's there when her spirit form shimmers into life, rising from her inert body. She's young and lovely and everything Toushirou remembers. A lump forms in his throat. When she smiles at him, Toushirou can't help but smile back.

Because of her Shinigami heritage, there is no need to perform konso. Toushirou can simply walk hand in hand with her through the gate.

He rises to his feet, aware of the eyes of her family watching their interaction, of the bated breath in the room.

"Karin..." he murmurs, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and never let go.

She chuckles. "That's my name." Her eyes skip past him, glancing at her body, glancing at her family members, then back to him. "Who are you?"

The world drops out from under him once again. Behind him, Toushirou hears several quick breaths. His own smile freezes on his face. He feels like he's stumbled, but he hasn't taken a step.

"I'm..."

"A friend," Ichigo says when Toushirou falters. "We're all here to help you, Karin."

She looks at Ichigo, at her twin sister, at her father in his shihakushou as though she's struggling to remember who they are, too. It's only a small comfort to Toushirou. Her head tilts as she looks at her aged body.

"I know that I died," Karin muses aloud. "So this is what's next."

"Not quite," Ichigo continues when it's obvious that words have failed Toushirou. "You still have to go to Soul Society. We'll take you."

Toushirou takes one step back and then another. He collides with someone, who gently places their hands on his shoulder. Yuzu. He'd know the gentle thrum of her reiatsu anywhere.

Yuzu had been the lucky one. Alzheimer's hadn't claimed her memories. She was still the same. Just as vivacious but soon to join the rest of her family anyway. Soon to join her lover and never look back to such a depressing time.

Toushirou hates her just a little for that.

"Soul Society?" Karin questions but shakes her head. "I'd like that. This place seems pretty dull anyway. Though the flowers are nice." Her eyes focus on the lilies. "They're my favorites."

It's the last that Toushirou can take.

For the second time, he flees from the room. Karin doesn't know him, but she's comfortable with Ichigo. He'll take her to Soul Society where she's certain to be accepted into the Academy. It's a new life for her.

Toushirou flees to Seireitei with a gate of his own making, taking refuge in his office. Matsumoto tries to ask him what's wrong, but he just stares at the floor until she leaves. He's not interested in any more false promises or comfort.

He sits at his desk, one hand on Hyourinmaru, and wonders where it all went wrong. Which deity he pissed off to be tormented so. Why everything is so unfair.

Karin doesn't know who he is. That thought rings round and round in his mind. He regrets not asking her to marry him now. At least they'd have that tangible reminder. He regrets letting her win the argument to live out her mortal life. He regrets a lot of things.

Not convincing her to come sooner. When she first started having symptoms. She hadn't forgotten much then, but it'd been enough to terrify them both. It would've been so easy to get to come then. She nearly had on her own. But there'd been Yuzu, and Karin hadn't wanted to leave her.

Not realizing she'd left everyone else. Just in a different way. A worse way.

Being there but not being there at the same time. A body with no one home. A soul stuck with a mind rotting away. They might as well have thrown her to the Hollows. It amounts to much the same thing.

The sun has long set, but he isn't surprised when Ichigo comes to talk to him.

The most Toushirou can give is a grunt in greeting, surprising himself with the hoarseness of his tone. He hasn't cried, only dancing on the edge of it all afternoon. There aren't enough tears for this. Never will be.

"Toushirou." Ichigo sits across from him, looking uncomfortable and concerned and filled with sorrow, too. "Her reiatsu is as strong as before you know."

His eyes shift to the window, to the puffy clouds that are drifting by. "She doesn't remember me."

"Sometimes, that happens," Ichigo says, as though Toushirou hadn't known as much for himself. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll even know."

Is he really going to go down like this? Broken-hearted, holed up in his office? Letting Karin get away from him without a fight?

She doesn't remember, but is this really the end? He stayed with her throughout it all. He hadn't cared when she went from teenager to adult. To someone who looked like his mother and then his grandmother. He'd loved her all the same. He hadn't cared.

Was this really the end? Was he really going to give up.

Toushirou shook his head to clear it.

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't surrender. He hadn't then. He hadn't to Aizen. To Hinamori's shrieks as he died. To any of it.

Not to this either.

"Don't feel sorry for me," Toushirou says, and a new resolve forms within.

His shoulders set straight, and his reiatsu curls and coils around him like the dragon he is in truth. He won't surrender. He won't submit.

Ichigo looks at him, confused, his brow drawn taut.

Toushirou shakes his head and stands with building determination. "All it means is that I have to make her fall in love with me again," he declares and watches as orange eyebrows hit an equally orange hairline. "I managed it one time. I can do it again."

After all, this time he has the upper hand. He knows the things she likes. He already knows her fears. Her weaknesses. Her strengths. Her passions. He still _loves_ her, and that's more than enough for him.

He can do this. He _will_ do this.

He won't let her go again.

* * *

a/n: I must thank ancientlybroken on livejournal for suggesting this plot to me. It was a fantastic idea.

One more drabble to come. Thanks for reading!


	200. Iridescent

**Title: Iridescent**

**Characters: Urahara, Shinji, Yoruichi, past UraAizen**

**Rating: T**

**Warning: spoilers, slight OOCness**

**Words: 4503**

**Description: "What do you want most?" As if there was ever any doubt.**

**Inspired by Linkin Park's, "Iridescent". Sequel to "Anthem of Our Dying Day," "Tomorrow in a Bottle," and "Burning in the Skies"  
**

* * *

_White. _

_Everywhere that Kisuke looks, he sees nothing but white._

_White walls, white floors, white ceilings. The whole structure feels almost seamless. Lit by an equally white light that brightens the entire building, chasing away all the shadows except for the ones trailing behind him. His geta sound all too loud in the echoing silence, a clack-clack that disturbs the crypt-like quiet. His skin crawls with it, the utter emptiness and the subtle pulsing of reiatsu in the very walls around him. _

_He's in a place composed of spirit particles, a place not of the living world. Kisuke might almost think himself in Seireitei, except this building resembles nothing he's seen in all of Soul Society. _

_Kisuke has no idea where he's going, but his feet seem to know the way without explanation. He glances down at himself – he's clothed all in white, outfit similar to his usual dress save for the change of color. There's a sword at his side, not Benihime but still painfully familiar nonetheless. His fingers brush the green hilt, and Kyouka Suigetsu hums against his skin. _

_Kisuke is a genius, but it doesn't take one to put two and two together. He's in Hueco Mundo. Not only that but Las Noches in Hueco Mundo, a place he's never been physically but has heard described countless times. His imagination has done a good job of conjuring up what it must resemble. _

"_Why are you showing me this?" he whispers._

_But there's no one to answer, no one listening. Still, when Kyouka Suigetsu pulses at his side, Kisuke can't quite chase the feeling there's a purpose in him being here. _

_He continues down countless hallways, through a literal labyrinth of corridors and rooms. Up stairs and down stairs, around sharp corners, from one doorway to the next. Kisuke's head is spinning from the constant change of direction, but there's a sensation in his chest, growing and growing. Something's leading him, guiding him… **somewhere**. _

_He supposes he'll figure it out when he gets there. Nevertheless, his hand tightens around Kyouka Suigetsu's hilt. Whether friend or foe, Kisuke will be prepared. _

_Then, he finds himself at an innocuous door with a simple lock that falls away when he reaches for the handle. It opens with a soft click, and the sound is an invitation as the door swings open, spilling shadow into the bright-white hallway. Surprisingly, Kisuke's not nervous or hesitant; his feet carry him forward and into the room. _

_It's sparsely furnished, and by sparsely, he means that there is a single, curtainless window and a small, nondescript cabinet. The window reveals a white desert, black sky, and single pale moon. Except for the occasional whisper of wind, it's just as quiet outside as it is within. _

_It's the cabinet that attracts Kisuke's attention the most. It looks as though it's been crafted from cherry wood with attractive iron embellishment. Kisuke knows he'll touch it, feel the pulse of the spirit particles that actually compose it, but it's still a handsome piece of furniture. It's the same height as him, and on closer inspection, it's locked. _

_But just like the door, the lock fades away the moment Kisuke reaches forward. Kyouka Suigetsu vibrates with greater urgency at his side, making his entire body hum as if he's turned into a tuning fork. _

_The doors swing outward of their own accord, and Kisuke is forced to take a step back or be smacked. The shadows in the room shift and sway, drawn toward the cabinet as though summoned, and inside is a single shelf, completely shaded. One item graces the surface, sparkling and churning out an immense power. _

_Kisuke feels his throat catch, and a dream within a dream sparks in his mind. He remembers how it felt to create this thing, to hold it in his hands. He remembers Sousuke's praise; he remembers his own joy. He remembers thinking he could change the world, change anything he wanted to, if only he could harness its fathomless power. _

_Kisuke stares and stares at the Hougyoku, sitting innocuous in its shadowed and dust-covered prison. Where Sousuke must have left it before the final fight. Had he felt there was no need for the Hougyoku on the battlefield? Or is there something else, something deeper at work here? _

_He doesn't know; Kisuke simply doesn't know. But his hand lifts of its own accord, reaching out as if drawn like a moth to the flame. He's not breathing, doesn't dare. His heart skips a beat and then two. _

_Kisuke reaches, fingers stretching out, Kyouka Suigetsu all but singing at his side, and the chill of the shadows nip at the ends of his fingers. There's power here, and something else, something that could change things. Fix what's been broken, fix **everything**. He reaches, body trembling-_

-and wakes in a cold sweat. He stares up at a dark ceiling, eyes fixed as everything in his bedroom rattles from the force of his reiatsu. He'd lost control in his sleep, both Benihime and Kyouka Suigetsu humming in their sheaths, and Kisuke forces himself to put a clamp on his own power, to reel it in before someone grows concerned and comes to investigate. His hands are cold, his fingers are burning, and Kisuke clenches and unclenches them.

He still can't seem to breathe.

That's the fifth time in a week he's had such a dream. So vivid and sharp, as if he's actually been there. He swears he can still taste the cold sterility of Las Noches' halls and feel the bite of Hueco Mundo's desert. The sound of his footsteps in the empty corridors. The echoes of his own breathing. The rattle of Kyouka Suigetsu at his side.

Kisuke throws back the blanket and rises from his futon, pulling on a nemaki to cover up his nudity. His room is dark with nighttime, though the moon tries to peek through the tiny gaps in his blinds. Across the hall, he can feel the quiescent nature of Shinji's sleeping energy, and the whole night seems silent and still. As if even the world has paused.

There's a Hollow several miles away, pinging on the edge of Kisuke's senses. But it's extinguished before he can even contemplate going after it himself.

He feels restless, the dream playing over and over in his mind, unforgettable for its vividness. He feels like he can reach out and touch Sousuke. That there's a sound echoing in the darkness, the sound of Sousuke's breathing.

Kisuke feels a lot like he's lost his mind.

Sucking in a slow and careful inhale, he reaches for his zanpakutou, both of them, and tucks Benihime first into his obi. But when he reaches for Kyouka Suigetsu, there's a flash of reiatsu. Kisuke drops her, almost as if he'd been burned. She's all but vibrating right now, releasing subtle pulses of power that make her sheath warm and alive.

Kisuke's a man of magic and science, but not even he's sure what to make of this. The very fact that Kyouka Suigetsu still exists is a miracle in unto itself. That she would waken for his hand or on her own is another miracle entirely.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he whispers into the dark.

It does not answer. It never does. Sometimes, Kisuke swears the universe is laughing at him.

When he touches Kyouka Suigetsu again, her reiatsu has calmed. She's cold and silent once more, dormant as he lifts her to join Benihime at his side. As always, the two resonant together when reintroduced, then settle quietly.

Confused and a touch disturbed, Kisuke wanders out of his bedroom, exhausted and troubled but resigned to his fate.

o0o0o

He looks tired. Shinji says as much.

"I'm not sleeping well," Kisuke answers, sipping his tea and ignoring the massive breakfast that Shinji seems to have no trouble gobbling down. His own stomach, however, is in knots, and the very idea of eating makes him ill.

Brown eyes are solid, understanding and sympathetic. "Bad dreams?"

_White walls and white ceilings and white floors. He's been here before many, many times. His feet know the way without conscious thought. The air tastes so familiar. He feels like he can reach out and touch the stone, like the walls pulse and throb to a familiar rhythm. _

Kisuke closes his eyes and breathes in the steam of his tea. "You could call them that," he murmurs and wonders if this is truly Sousuke's curse. To drive Kisuke to the point of madness. This is his punishment for killing a man he'd loved.

"Ah." Shinji nods in quiet comprehension. "Maybe we should think 'bout visitin' Soul Society again. Clear yer head. Or better yet, head ta Karakura. Ichigo probably needs a good scare."

The corners of Kisuke's mouth twitch in fond thought of his student. He thinks of Jinta and Ururu, too. Of Tessai and Yoruichi.

"Okay," Kisuke agrees and hopes that seeing them will help chase away the ghosts of the past.

He feels more than sees Shinji's surprise.

"Good," the Vizard says after recovering from the shock of Kisuke finally agreeing to something other than lingering in the consequences of his actions. "We'll go tomorrow."

o0o0o

_He's in that room again, the one with a single uncurtained window and the locked cabinet. A lock that dissolves away the moment Kisuke touches it and with a single pulse of Kyouka Suigetsu at his side. He can feel the wood this time, the fineness of the grain, the chill soaked into it. _

_The entire room is throbbing, enveloped by power. Kisuke can feel it pulsing at his fingers, pressing outward in steadying waves. _

_Once again, the doors swing open of their own accord, and like before, the shadows nestle around the Hougyoku, taunting Kisuke with its presence. He has only to reach out and take it. _

_Why? What would that accomplish? _

_He hesitates. His hand doesn't move from his side. _

"_Why?" he asks aloud, voice echoing in the otherwise empty room. "What do you want me to do?" _

_Outside the window, the wind whistles a mournful tune. A white moon in a black sky looks down at a white desert. Something howls in the distance, a wolf, and Kisuke thinks briefly of the Espada Stark before he waits for an answer._

_He created the Hougyoku. He knows the limits of its power. Or to be more precise, Kisuke knows that it _has_ no limits. It's capable of almost anything, restricted only by the imagination and the control of the user. Sousuke had been powerful enough to use the Hougyoku's full potential. Kisuke admits only to himself that he'd be lucky if it doesn't explode in his face or tear him apart when he loses control. _

_But in the white light of the room, the Hougyoku twinkles and winks at him. As if daring him to touch, daring him to reach out and take that power for his own. _

"_You could change so much," a tiny voice whispers in the back of his head. "All you have to do is take it."_

A warm hand covers his fingers, and he's startled from his recollections. He'd fallen into a daydream again, and in the middle of sharing a bottle of sake with Yoruichi no less.

These fugues are coming more often. How troublesome.

"Kisuke?"

He shakes his head, tries to chase away the lingering dream. "It's nothing," he lies and sips at the good, expensive sake. "How's the rebuilding going?"

Yoruichi looks at him, searches him with those impossibly beautiful eyes, before she decides it's better to drop the subject. She sighs.

"Fine. The captain-commander decided, much to Unohana-taichou's relief, that everyone will have to chip in and not just the fourth division alone."

Kisuke nods slowly, as though interested in the affairs of Soul Society. But really, his mind is drifting back to that dream. To the taunting existence of the Hougyoku.

His brow furrows, and he clears his throat noisily. "Did they ever find it?"

"Find what?" She sounds confused. She should. Kisuke didn't even bother to segue into the question normally.

"The Hougyoku." He tries not to let his yearning show in his voice; it seems to work.

Yoruichi shakes her head, slow and thoughtful. "Las Noches is rubble. No one's alive who might be able to tell us where Aizen hid it. Frankly, I think it's better that some things stay buried."

But her eyes are filled with pity. For him.

Hiding behind his cup, Kisuke crushes down a tiny sprig of hope that dares bud to life in the wake of Sousuke's war. He wishes for impossible things, to turn back time and so on. There are so many things he regrets, and so many things he'd never change. Funny how the two are starting to become jumbled up, mixed together, until he's not sure which is better to have.

"Kisuke."

He's wandered into his thoughts again. So much for coming to Soul Society to clear his thoughts.

He looks up guiltily.

Yoruichi's giving him that pitying look. There's something to her eyes, even if her words are strong.

"Please don't become so trapped by the past that you forget us in the present."

His lips twitch in a semblance of a smile, but even he can tell it's a hollow thing. "Was that a pearl of wisdom from the great Yoruichi-sama? I don't think I've ever heard you so serious."

"I can be wise sometimes. When I feel like it." She grins at him, punching him in the shoulder, her idea of affection.

Kisuke chuckles, and for a minute, it feels just like old times. He thinks if he concentrates, he can even forget.

'_Just a little bit more_,' he tells himself.

If only that were true.

o0o0o

"_You should take it." _

_The voice comes from behind him, achingly familiar, making Kisuke's stomach flip and his heart skip several beats. He wants to turn around and look but fears that doing so will make Sousuke disappear. So his hands fist at his sides, and he stares at the Hougyoku, charmingly quiescent in its wooden cage. _

"_Why?" _

"_Why else?" Sousuke's voice is rich with humor and promise. He sounds just like the man Kisuke remembers, the one from before betrayal and madness. "Aren't you the least bit curious?" _

_Kisuke's breath catches. The curiosity burns inside of him. _

_Oh, he's curious. So curious that he's fighting himself now. Fear is there, too. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what this dream means. For himself, for the future. What it says about him as a person. What he's willing to sacrifice._

"_A little," he admits on an exhale. "What will happen?" _

"_It depends." _

_There's a flutter of movement, a whisper of a touch against his shoulders. The ghostly impression of Sousuke's hands. The phantom brush of his breath across Kisuke's right ear. _

"_What do you want most?"_

_Kisuke swallows over a lump in his throat._

_Kyouka Suigetsu burns at his side. _

_o0o0o  
_

Shinji finds him standing at the window, staring up at a moonless sky that seems almost black. There are stars, of course, but still, it's probably the closest to a Hueco Mundo night that Kisuke will ever see anywhere else.

"What's goin' on?" Shinji demands, blunt as always, quick to the point.

He shivers, cold despite the heat blasting at them from the furnace. "What do I want most?" Kisuke whispers.

Since really, at this point, there's little that Shinji doesn't know. He's the only one Kisuke can trust.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Kisuke shakes his head, rubbing his right elbow with his left hand. "Sousuke asked me that. What I wanted most. Whatever it is… the Hougyoku can give it to me."

Shinji's stare burns between his shoulder blades. "Yer not thinkin' of goin' ta Hueco Mundo, are ya?"

"I don't see where I have a choice," Kisuke comments with eyes searching the heavens, as though the door to the Hollow world will suddenly appear just for him. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"Not that ya were ever particularly sane in the first place," Shinji mutters, and there's a ruffle of fabric as he moves to stand at Kisuke's side. "Ya really think it's there?"

"If it's not, then I'm being haunted by the lover I killed in some sort of sick revenge scheme," Kisuke says bitterly. "Because that's the only other rational explanation I can think of."

Shinji tilts his head back, looks up at the same sky that has captivated his friend. "If you say so," he puts in with a shrug. "But I'm goin' with ya."

"Shinji-"

The Vizard holds up a hand, lips twisted in a smirk, full of confidence. Kisuke wonders when he lost his.

"I've stuck by ya this long. Might as well see where it takes me."

Gratitude mixes with shame mixes with disquiet until Kisuke isn't sure which he'd rather have on his face.

"If you must," he says quietly and returns his attention to the sky.

There's nothing there but a bunch of stars.

o0o0o

Hueco Mundo is stark and silent, smelling of death and disuse as Kisuke steps foot onto the white sands. A billow of dust curls around him, but it quickly settles. Behind him echoes another step, Shinji following, and then, the Garganta closes, surrendering them to the silence.

"Che. I don't like this place," Shinji mutters.

Kisuke, hand on Kyouka Suigetsu, can feel her tremble. "It's this way," he insists without hesitation, going forward, always forward.

What else can he do?

Shinji's stare scratches over his spine, but the Vizard doesn't question him. Some day, Kisuke's going to have to thank Shinji for this. No one else would've been insane enough to stand by Urahara Kisuke as he slowly lost his grasp on reality.

Kisuke's never been here himself. Even during Aizen's war, Kisuke had never set foot in Hueco Mundo. He has nothing but his instincts and the push of Kyouka Suigetsu to tell him where to go. But when he and Shinji climb the next rise in a burst of shunpo and the ruins of Las Noches come into view, something inside of him gives a leap of hope.

He pauses, there on the hill, and looks down at the shattered remains of Aizen Sousuke's ambition. The towers have all crumpled, save one, and even it's pockmarked with holes and barely keeping up its fight against gravity. The dome has mostly caved in with only one column left clinging stubbornly to the roof. There's evidence of explosions everywhere, and the whole building radiates reiatsu, lingering traces from the months-ago battle. This close, it is gigantic. Surely greater than even Seireitei itself.

Shinji whistles. "I wonder what it looked like before Ichigo and his buddies went on a rampage," he muses aloud. "Well, I can't say that Sou-kun never had any taste."

"There was a dome," Kisuke says softly, the image burned in his mind. He's never been here before, but he _knows_, somehow he knows. "Five towers perched on top of it. There was a ring of towers around the wall, too. And hallways throughout the complex, all capable of being shifted around. It was… beautiful."

"I'm not even gonna ask how ya know that," Shinji retorts flatly. "Though a part of me really, really wants ta. I'm gonna refrain fer the sake of my sanity."

Kyouka Suigetsu rattles. She pulses warmly at his side, urging him onward.

"You're right,' Kisuke says with a sad smile. "You wouldn't want to know. Hell, I'm not even sure why I know."

He doesn't wait for Shinji to answer, sliding into shunpo from one step to the next, each flash bringing him closer to the massive walls of Las Noches. Or what's left of them anyway. Kisuke doesn't even have to look for a gate; he just enters at the nearest hole in the wall and steps right into a white corridor, dusted black from battle.

The hallway branches to the left and right. Without hesitating, Kisuke turns to the left, following the twisting, turning corridors. They slope downward, but passing windows assure him he's still above ground. He doesn't know where he's going; he's just following the subtle push of Kyouka Suigetsu. That and the lingering echoes of what had been in his dream.

He passes empty rooms. Some of them used for training, others obvious living quarters, a few swept clean, more still full of debris, as though they'd been ransacked.

"They never found all the Espada, ya know," Shinji says, probably more to fill the silence than for any real interest in conversation. "That lunk Yammy slithered into the shadows, a bleeding mess. Ichigo didn't finish off that Grimmjow guy, so no one knows what happened to him. The first Espada vanished, too."

"I doubt they're here," Kisuke murmurs and abruptly adjusts course, turning into an adjoining hall. This one climbs upwards, but it feels so uncomfortably familiar.

"Why not?"

This place smells like death and abandonment, which isn't all that different from the rest of Hueco Mundo, but still… it'd be foolish.

Kisuke doesn't say that, however. He just chooses another corridor, seemingly at random, and then a third. His heart quickens its rhythm inside his chest.

"Do ya even know where yer going?"

Kisuke feels himself break into a sweat, though not from exertion. This is so painfully, uncomfortably familiar.

"No," he says and turns another corner, then another, one right after the next. Skirting around collapsed walls and the lingering evidence of battle.

In his wake, Shinji's reiatsu is a nervous wobble. "Kisuke, yer startin' ta scare me."

And he must really be feeling it to even admit that much. Shinji was never afraid through Hollows or Espada or betrayal or turning into a monster. But his breath has a slight flutter now, and he clenches his hands to find a tremble.

Kisuke swallows. "To be honest, I'm scaring myself," he admits, geta an echoing clack-clack on the white, white walls and the white, white floors. He swears he can hear Sousuke whispering just around the next bend.

"Good," Shinji murmurs as they pick up speed. "Then at least we're on the same page."

In his haste, Kisuke almost misses it, the narrow corridor that branches off at an angle. He has to stop, turn around, and slide into the hallway, heart beating faster and faster. Kyouka Suigetsu is all but singing now, and Kisuke knows what he's going to find. He feels it down in his marrow, in the quivering center of him where he has always felt his reiatsu the strongest.

And there it is. The door from his dreams, no different from any of the others on the corridor, but Kisuke can feel Kyouka Suigetsu humming at his side. He reaches for the handle, one hand on her hilt, and the knob turns with no resistance whatsoever. If it'd even been locked, Kisuke can't tell.

A hand falls on his wrist, not harshly, just reminding him of Shinji's presence. "I'm not sure we should go in there," he says lowly, eyes worried, face drawing into a wrinkled frown that Kisuke doesn't think he's ever seen before.

"I have to," Kisuke replies and pulls open the door, meeting no resistance.

Shinji had only meant to warn him, after all. He knows better than to actually try and stop Kisuke.

It's dim inside, just like in his dreams, and the room is empty save for a single cherry-wood cabinet and the uncurtained window. Through it, he can see the same dead tree with the same three branches. Part of Kisuke is a little afraid. He swallows over a lump in his throat, walking toward the cabinet that seems to pulse with an inner throb.

"Kisuke?"

"It's here," he breathes, reaching for the handles, running his fingers over the smooth wood. It's cool to the touch, but warms under his skin.

Again, there's no lock, nothing to stop Kisuke from looking inside. That's the only difference from his dream. It's not enough to make him hesitate.

The doors open outward, revealing a single shelf and a single item resting on it, twinkling innocuously in the dim light. The Hougyoku.

"_What do you want most?" _Sousuke's voice whispers in the back of his mind, warm and seductive.

"This is what you wanted to show me," Kisuke murmurs as he stares at the Hougyoku, the single item that could change everything, change the world. All he has to do is take it.

"Kisuke?"

He startles. He'd almost forgotten that Shinji is here, too.

"I wonder if he planned this," Kisuke says aloud. He stares at the Hougyoku, one hand wrapped firmly around Kyouka Suigetsu's hilt, a spare finger brushing across Benihime as well. "If this was why she stayed."

There is a single step, a whisper of shoes against the sterile white floor. "Kisuke, what are ya doin'?"

"What I have to," Kisuke says, and he doesn't look at Shinji. "This is the part where I say thank you and then I'm sorry because I'm probably going to strand you here."

Shinji scoffs. "Don't be stupid. Ya think I came here without a backup plan?"

A slow smile curls Kisuke's lips. "Good. One less thing for me to feel guilty about."

He's within reach of the Hougyoku, and Kisuke swears he can feel a presence behind him, not Shinji's, but still familiar. Warm and comfortable, a brief brush of warm air over his ear. Reiatsu that pulses at his skin. A voice that whispers in his ear.

"_You should take it." _

"I know better than ta stop ya," Shinji says, softer this time. Resigned. "But, ya know, I'm not the only one who'll miss ya."

For only a moment, a startling heartbeat, Kisuke's resolve falters. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and makes his choice.

Who's he kidding? He made his choice a long time ago. From the moment he stabbed Sousuke in the back and watched his blood rain down. Nothing's going to change it now.

"_It wasn't an illusion," Sousuke murmurs, reaching for him. Eyes impossibly soft and forgiving. _

"I don't know what's going to happen." Kisuke's shoulders straighten, and his face sets. "It might be safer if you left the room."

Reiatsu fills the area, but it's not just Kisuke's. It's not Shinji's either. It's suffocatingly familiar, seeking to twine with Kisuke's own. It shouldn't be possible, but here, it is.

"I won't," Shinji inserts, stubborn to the end.

Shinji is a better friend than he deserves. A better man than he'll ever be.

Kisuke feels a smile curl his lips. "If you insist." He takes a breath, looks at the Hougyoku, seemingly innocent and yet brimming with power.

"_What do you want most?" _

A small smile curls the corner of Kisuke's lips. "You know me better than anyone. What do you think?" he says so quietly that it carries no further than his ears.

There is no answer, but then, Kisuke doesn't expect anyone.

He lifts his hand, Kyouka Suigetsu warm and pulsing at his side, and Kisuke reaches for the Hougyoku. It has the power to change the world, and all he has to do is take it.

* * *

a/n: Yep. Evil cliffhanger. I let you, the reader, decide what end the Hougyoku gave poor Kisuke.

And this marks the end of _Seireitei Monogatari. _It's been a good run and I'm still happy with the amount of ficcage I managed to produce.

Thanks to everyone who supported me over the long, long years. I have some of the best readers in the fandom. Much love to everyone!


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